self-love, (of all love the most blinding,) since we have heard, in her funeral sermon, her religious. experiences detailed as the triumphs of a saint ; her strict attention on religious ordinances commended, as if they were the end and not the means of a religious life; since we (who cannot remember a single gracious act of humility in her whole life) have been told, as a proof of her gracious state, that the last rational words she pronounced were, that she was of sinners the chief?" There seems to be a curious spiritual alchymy in the utterance of these words; for we cannot say, that those who use them mean to 'palter in a double sense,' but they are too often spoken and received as the evidence of a hopeful state. Professions and declarations have crept in among the protestants, to take the place of the mortifications and penances of the ancient church; so prone are men to find some easier way to heaven than the toilsome path of obedience."

CHAPTER XVI.

God, the best maker of all marriages,
Combine your hearts in one.

HENRY V.

We have anticipated our story, tempted by a natural desire to conclude the history of Mrs. Wilson, that its deep shade might not interfere with the bright lights that are falling on the destiny of our heroine. After the dissolution of her engagement with Erskine, Jane continued her humble vocation of school-mistress for some months. Rebecca Lloyd had from the beginning been one of her pupils, and a favourite among them; and so devotedly did the child love her instructress, that Mr. Lloyd often thought impulse was as sure a guide for her affections as reason for his. Jane's care of his child furnished him occasion, and excuse when he needed it, for frequent intercourse with her; and, in this intercourse, there were none of those mysterious embarrassments (mysterious, because inexplicable to all but the parties) that so often check the progress of

affection. Jane, released from the thraldom in which she had been bound to Erskine, was as happy as a redeemed captive. Her tastes and her views were similar to Mr. Lloyd's, and she found in his society a delightful exchange and a rich compensation for the solitude to which her mind and affections had been condemned.

6

We are ignorant, perhaps Jane was, of the precise moment when gratitude melted into love, and friendship resigned the reigns to his more absolute dominion. But it was not long after this, nor quite a year and a day' (the period of mourning usually allotted to a faithful husband) after her separation from Erskine, that, as she was sitting with Mrs. Harvey in her little parlour, Mr. Lloyd entered with his child. After the customary greetings, Mrs. Harvey suddenly recollected that some domestic duties demanded her presence, and saying with an arch smile to Mr. Lloyd that she hoped he would overlook her absence,' she left the room. Little Rebecca was sitting on her father's knee; she took from his bosom a miniature of her mother, which he always wore there, and seemed intently studying the face which the artist had delineated with masterly power. "Do the angels look like my mother?" she asked.

"Why, my child ?"

"I thought, father, they might look like her, she looks so bright and so good." She kissed the picture, and after a moment's pause, added, "Jane looks like mother, all but the cap; dost not thee think, father, Jane would look pretty in

a quaker cap?" Mr. Lloyd kissed his little girl, and said nothing. Rebecca's eyes followed the direction of her father's: 66 Oh, Jane!" she exclaimed, "thou dost not look like mother now, thy cheeks are as red as my new doll's."

The child's observation of her treacherous cheek had certainly no tendency to lessen poor Jane's colour. She would have been glad to hide her face any where, but it was broad daylight, and there was now no escape from the declaration which had been hovering on Mr. Lloyd's lips for some weeks, and which was now made in spite of Rebecca's presence. It cannot be denied, in deference to the opinion of some very fastidious ladies, that Jane was prepared for it; for though the marks of love are not quite as obvious, as the lively Rosalind describes them, yet we believe that except in the case of very wary lovers-cautious veterans-they are first observed by the objects of the passion.

We are warned from attempting to describe the scene to which our little pioneer had led the way, by the fine remark of a sentimentalist, who compares the language of lovers to the most delicate fruits of a warm climate-very delicious where they grow, but not capable of transportation. Much is expressed and understood in a few sensentences, which would be quite unintelligible to those whose faculties are not quickened by la grande passion, and who therefore cannot be expected to comprehend the mystics of love.

rested her eye; she knelt for a moment beside it and folded her hands on her breast. Then rising.

she said to Mary, "The prayer of the dying sanctifles." The door was open, and she passed through it so suddenly that they hardly suspected her intention before she was gone. The next morning she was discovered in the church-yard, her head resting on the grassy mound that covered the remains of her lover. Her spirit had passed to its eternal rest!