LETTER III.

MY DEAR MARY,

Since I wrote last, both my feelings and taste have been accidentally gratified, by a call at the house of a lady, whom I shall call Emilia. She is a widow, who has devoted herself to the education of an only daughter. When I arrived at the house, the friend who had insisted on procuring me the pleasure of an introduction, politely requested permission to make me known to Emilia. She received me with dignified ease, and soon gave me that pleasant sensation, which arises from social intercourse among the true followers of the Redeemer: I fell into that sweet home feeling, which opens all the sluices of human affection.

Emilia spoke of her daughter, as the friend and companion from whose society she derived the greatest portion of her happiness. While she was speaking with kindling features, the subject of her discourse entered the room, having just returned from visiting a sick neighbour. "This is my daughter Emma," said Emilia, with an illuminated smile.-My eyes fell upon a youthful form, of graceful size and proportions, plainly apparelled, and without the slightest approach to artifice in her demeanour. Her features at first appeared plain, but a smile diffused over them an irresistible attraction. She was grave, however, and her countenance exhibited traces of recent emotion. She entered into easy conversation, carefully falling into the subject selected by her mother, without showing any desire to dictate one of her own. In the course of a long morning's discourse, she developed rich stores of intellectual wealth, but showed no consciousness of the impression she was making on her auditors. I exerted all my skill to draw

her out, without betraying my design, and succeeded in fathoming a mind of no ordinary depth. The stream of literature had passed over this mind, fertilizing the soil, without leaving any pool for learning to stagnate in. There was moral beauty and grace in her conceptions, while her thoughts flowed with a freedom that betokened no small share of variety in her mental treasures. Her moral sense appeared pure from the slightest taint of worldly conformity. She had evidently taken, at the age of seventeen, that good part which was not to be taken from her; and her thoughts were exalted far beyond the impurities of earth. She seemed to pant after opportunities to serve God, and yet to wait patiently his own time, to call her forth in his service. The truths of Christianity had been cemented with the fabric of her being, so that out of Christ, she was nothing. All her energies were directed to his cause; but they had evidently been hitherto employed in meliorating the condition of her own heart. When she spoke of human depravity, you clearly saw, that her own bosom had furnished sufficient evidences of this fundamental doctrine of Scripture. Some people talk awkwardly of sin, as if they would fain apply their ideas to the world, and not to themselves. But Emma drew her picture of innate depravity from self conviction, and all her arguments were practically deduced from self examination. While she proved that man was by nature sinful, she proved that grace could renew a right spirit within him. There was a sweet persuasiveness in her language, that seemed calculated to win souls to the Saviour. Her mother evidently delighted in hearing her speak, and seemed to draw her out more for her own gratification, than for the purposes of display. Emma never spoke, until she found that Emilia had chosen silence as her part.

When the dinner hour approached, both mother and daughter quitted the room, "on hospitable thoughts intent," like our first mother. My companion took this opportunity to point out to me, several lady-like. works which adorned the apartment. There were some beautiful landscapes finished with taste and skill, and evidently taken from nature. An oil painting of the parting of Hector and Andromache, displayed uncommon excellence in the art, but my friend informed me that Emma had applied herself to this branch of painting a few years ago, when her mother's pecuniary circumstances were embarrassed. "She then taught painting, by way of increasing her mother's income," said she, "and when their difficulties were removed, she gave up this arduous undertaking; at present she rarely has recourse to her pencil, except to add to the funds of the Theological Education Society." There were musical instruments also in the apartment, and my companion, assured me that Emma touched them with skill and taste. "This accomplishment," added she, "she learnt in compliance with her father's desire; he languished many years in great bodily suffering, and music was one of his principal gratifications."

As the dinner hour drew near, our party received an agreeable accession from the entrance of the minister of the parish. He soon told us that he had been detained at the house of the same old neighbour, to whom Emma had paid her morning visit. "She has taken her departure for a better world," said he, "and O, what a blessed frame has she departed in! She blessed you, Miss Emma, with her parting breath, and declared that she owed her conversion from a state of heathen darkness, to your unwearied labours. "Oh!' exclaimed she, 'had she left me in my obstinate blindness, where now would have been my hopes? But she came again and

again, in faithful imitation of him, who went about doing good! She read the Scriptures and pointed out their meaning, with benign goodness and perseverance, until a blessing came from heaven upon her labours. Yes! I verily believe that my soul was granted to her prayers.” ” The tears stood in Emma's eyes, as she listened to this recital. I did but little for her," said she in a quivering voice. "I only read to her, and explained my own views of Christianity. This appeared to me to be one of my most simple duties: had I omitted it, my conscience would not have suffered me to rest. Besides, I find myself so much edified by attempting to instruct others, that this was not altogether a disinterested duty."

"To you, Miss Emma," said the good minister, "it is more than a duty,—it is a privilege. I would not speak thus to your face, did I not know that you cannot be hurt by a little honest praise. It is only those who prize encomiums, that are hurt by them. You have higher motives of action, and cannot be injured by an assurance that you have done good in your vocation."

The eyes of Emilia glistened at this sincere and merited eulogium on her daughter. I could see that she prized it far more than she could have done personal praise. The evening past in social enjoyment, and I learnt yet more of the excellencies of both mother and daughter. It is Emilia's rule always to adhere to strict moral and religious propriety in her conversation. She keeps the spirit of religion always in operation, so as to pervade whatever subject she or her guests may wish to discuss. If the name is not mentioned, the essence of christianity is present in all her avocations and amusements; it sheds a halo light around the social circle. When night arrived, and the supper things were removed, the room was prepared for family worship; the servants en

tered, all comfortably and decently clad, with an air of respectful attention, that was infinitely pleasing. I was afterwards told that they were all instructed in the principles of christianity, and most of them professors of some standing. Emma teaches them all to read, and explains their christian duties to them; so that in obeying their heavenly Master, they perform all subordinate duties. "When we teach our servants to serve God," says Emilia, "they serve us of course, for obedience to their earthly master is one branch of their duty to their heavenly King." It is always better to give both children and servants a higher motive of action than mere subservience to our will. When this duty is involved in a more exalted one, there is a greater prospect of its being duly performed. I have never seen slaves look as they do in Emilia's family; and I am told, that she has the most moral and correct set in the country. This surely proves the propriety of her management, for I have often seen, in the houses of professors, miserable examples of ignorance and vice among their slaves, while incessant complaints of their ill conduct made up the sum of social discourse. It is, doubtless, an arduous part of christian duty, to train this unfortunate class of our fellow beings in the way they should go; but it certainly must be a part of christian duty, and yet how seldom is it ever undertaken in any way! We hear complaints of our national misfortune, but see no efforts made to meliorate our condition. Surely religion demands and suggests some exertions in this obvious and imperious department of social duty. Emilia has among her dependants some characters who would not disgrace the higher walks of life. When she is questioned on the subject, she says, that she became aware early in life, that the ordinary behaviour of these people would destroy her happiness. She therefore set herself to arranging a method of manage