talk of sacrificing pleasures for the sake of religion. A soul awakened to truth and life, is dead to the now tasteless pleasures which once engrossed it, and reflects with wonder on the time when it found pleasure in having fictitious feelings roused by fictitious representations, or its risible faculties excited by seeing man, the being created after the image of God, made a buffoon, personating a Harlequin. Well might the poet exclaim—“ How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, how wonderful is man!"

CHAPTER VI.

"So calm, the waters scarcely seem to stray,
And yet they glide like happiness away.

All was so still, so soft in earth and air,
You scarce would start to meet a spirit there;
Secure that nought of evil could delight

To walk in such a scene on such a night."

LADY AMELIA, left alone in the inn, recollected that there was a beautiful river at no great distance, and, irresistibly attracted by the sweetness of the evening, thither she directed her steps, to stroll a little on its banks. Peaceful and calm was the scene, and peaceful and calm were her thoughts. "In the multitude of my thoughts within me, thy comforts delight my soul," was in her heart and on her lips. To her a solitary walk was full of attractions; for often she felt her soul drawn forth in sweet contemplation, in delightful musings, with which a stranger could not intermingle. The river was clear and calm, and seemed to reflect an image of her own mind-such as it was at this moment, in perfect peace stayed upon God-yet sin and temptation had not ceased to struggle within her;

for the Christian life is a warfare; but she watched and prayed against their influence, and often obtained great and long intervals of peace. Her soul was filled with love to God and to her fellowcreatures, and hence enjoyed the blessedness of fulfilling the two great commandments, on which hang all the law and the Prophets.

She was aroused from her musing by the whimpering of a child, and turning round, she perceived a tawdry-looking woman, whose countenance and appearance bore every trace of wretchedness. Encouraged by Lady Amelia's compassionate looks, the stranger addressed her in the language of entreaty, saying, that it was the first time she had ever sought aid in this manner; that she had been an actress, and had come to Dintherout, in hopes of being employed in the theatre; that the manager had engaged her husband, but had no occasion for her services; that she had nothing to trust to but her husband's uncertain profits, and literally was not possessed of a shilling. Lady Amelia never turned away her ear from the tale of distress; she questioned the woman a little further as to her history.

The high-flown language of the stranger, made up of extracts from plays, a motley mixture of tragedy and comedy, was strangely contrasted with the plainness and simplicity of Lady Amelia's

E

mode of expression; but, at the same time, served to confirm one part of her story, and shew that she had been an actress. It farther appeared, that her husband and she had frequently thought of quitting so unprofitable a profession, and one in which they had already suffered so much—their name was Mackorkindale. Lady Amelia having given her a little money for her present necessities, told her if she would call next morning, with proper credentials of the truth of her story, she would endeavour to raise a little money to assist them in entering into an honest trade. The countenance of the poor woman brightened as she received the contents of Lady Amelia's purse, and loading her with many blessings, she departed, promising to bring her husband to the inn with her in the morning. Lady Amelia had a pleasing walk homewards, for it is cheering to the heart of a Christian to be made an instrument for good, and she hoped this adventure might be blessed, as the means of much good to the poor Mackorkindales. She felt the truth of Shakespeare's description of mercy, "it is doubly blest, it blesseth him that giveth and him that receiveth;" but, above all, she remembered Jesus of Nazareth, who went about doing good, and who said, "It is more blessed to give than to receive."

The inn was in a state of almost total deser

tion when she arrived there; all the servants that could possibly be spared had gone to the play; the chambermaid alone remained in solitary attendance, and prepared to shew Lady Amelia the way to the parlour. As she went along the passage, the groans of some one in deep distress arrested her attention. She was not one of those callous beings, who could hear the moans of the suffering, without lively interest and deep-felt compassion.

"What is that?" said she, pausing, and addressing the housemaid.

"Oh!" replied the girl, "it is only Mr Macbill, puir man, groaning for his tea; the house has been in such a bustle, that there has been naebody to attend to him I may say these twa days." The groans were repeated in a still deeper tone—” He maun just craik on," said the girl; "for I canna do everything, and he needna be sae impatient. Whenever I tak up your leddyship's tea, I'll attend to him."

Lady Amelia felt moved with this account. "Where is he?" said she.

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"Just ben at yon brown door," said the girl. May I step in and inquire for him?" said Lady Amelia.

"Oh, I'm sure if your leddyship likes to take the trouble, he'll be unco glad to see you, for he greens