money, he should like to get into some way of business, and take to himself a wife. But as this wish was always coupled with the modest proviso, "whenever it would be quite convenient to spare him ;" and as my grandfather never found it quite convenient to part with an old servant, and take on a new one, who might prove untrusty or ill-behaved, or, at any rate, could not know his ways like James, who had been so long used to them,-James's settlement was from time to time postponed, and he remained in his place as long as my grandfather lived. Such was the household, broken up by the death of my grandfather; a portion of which contributed to form that of my aunt Priscilla. My grandfather died after a very short illness; and that of such a nature as would have rendered him absolutely incapable of attending to those concerns, which, in too many instances, are consigned to the tender mercies of a dying hour-the immortal interests of the soul, and the temporal concerns of a surviving family. In this instance, they had not been so delayed. My dear grandfather had always been thoughtful and conscientious in the concerns of religion; and the last few years of his life were characterized by gradual, but rapid advances in that principle which is the vital spring of personal enjoyment and pious activity; that entire renovation, which leads to worshipping God in the spirit, rejoicing in Christ Jesus, and renouncing all confidence in the flesh. As to his worldly affairs, my grandfather had always been a man of method and punctuality. His will bore date a few days after the birth of his first child Susanna, and made provision for his widow, and for whatever children might survive him; but there was a codicil, dated twentyfive years later, after the marriage of my mother. The property bequeathed to her and her family was placed under some restrictions, which the peculiarity of her circumstances seemed to require. A handsome provision was made for my grandmother, with both the houses, for her life, and after her death to descendthe country house to my aunt Priscilla, or her representatives, and the town house to my aunt Leonora. There were several legacies to more remote relations and friends, and a liberal expression of regard to each faithful servant of the family. Together with the will was found a sealed packet, directed to James Faulkner, the footman. This packet contained a lease of a small farm adjoining my grandfather's country residence. It was for a long term of years, at a low rent, and a small allowance ordered to be made to the said James Faulkner, for every year that should intervene between the date of this lease, and his taking possession of the farm. The lease was dated about seven years before. My grandfather, though he had little taste for farming, had kept the farm in his own hands, probably at a considerable loss. He had often been applied to, to let it, but had uniformly replied, that it was promised, and about to be entered upon. Doubtless it would have been so, if he could have "made it quite convenient to part with James. It was affecting to think, of the numerous individuals mentioned in my grandfather's will, how few lived to reap the fruits of his kind solicitude. His relatives of a former generation, and most of his contemporary friends, his first named executors, his wife, several of his children, and some who had served him, were gone beyond the reach of his provision. His three daughters, five servants, with, I think, four relations or friends, alone remained as his legatees. My grandfather's care for his widow having been superseded by the previous death of my grandmother, my aunts entered immediately on the possession of their property. James Faulkner was not the only individual in the family whose intentions had been postponed, in deference to my grandfather's fondness for having things go on as he had been accustomed to them. If the place of James Faulkner, as a faithful and attentive servant, could not easily be filled, it was still less likely that my grandfather should "find," or "make it quite convenient," to part with such a daughter, such a companion, such a comforter, as my aunt Priscilla. Walter Maurice, esq., of the Inner Temple, had long been a frequent and welcome visitor at the house, and my grandfather well understood to what his visits tended. He cherished the connexion, but shrank from the separation it involved. My aunt Leonora carried her habits of seclusion so far, that even my grandfather seemed never to think of her as a companion; and if ever aunt Priscilla's marriage was hinted at, his usual reply was, up "Well, well, all in good time; she must train little Marianne to fill her place." What my dear aunt might have considered the path of duty, had the life of her father been prolonged, I cannot pretend to say. After his removal, there seemed no obstacle in the way of the long-intended union; which accordingly took place a few months after my grandfather's death. It was by no means an easy matter to call down aunt Leonora from her close seclusion and abstruse speculations, to attend to the affairs of ordinary life. She seemed scarcely capable of comprehending, that the death of her father would involve any change in the affairs and administration of the family; and appeared unconscious of any other difference than that of seeing his chair and his chamber unoccupied. That she should be called upon to give orders about the disposition of affairs, and to sign and sanction transfers of property, seemed to her an insufferable interruption and burden. I do think, if aunt Leonora had lived half a century later, and had submitted her cranium to the manipulation of some phrenological professor, his science would have been greatly at fault, if he had not pronounced a most powerful development of the organ of inhabitiveness. All her desires seemed to be concentred in this, "Let me be where I am, and go on as I have been used to do." She was with difficulty induced to be present at the reading of the will, and all the time manifested the most listless indifference and impatience to be gone. Perhaps she, in some degree, prided herself on her superiority to such sublunary matters. She was, however, made to understand, that the town house, with all its furniture, was now her property, with so many thousands in the funds, as also a share of the residue of the estate. My aunt Priscilla ventured to ask her where she thought of residing. "Here, where I am,' was the reply. "Why should I think of moving?" (This conversation, as well as my grandfather's death, took place in London.) When asked what she thought about dismissing or retaining the servants, she said, "Oh, they may all remain; I do not wish to part from them." It was hinted that she might not find it necessary or desirable to keep up so large an establishment, especially in the prospect of her sister leaving her. She thought it quite a pity that Priscilla should leave her: she had much better remain, and let things go on as they had done. But Priscilla had other views and purposes; and, in order to forming her household, was desirous of knowing whether any of the servants of her late father would be at liberty to engage with her. Aunt Leonora was consulted as to the disposal of the residuary property, including the carriage and horses, which aunt Priscilla observed she had no wish to retain, as Mr. Maurice kept an open chaise, which she greatly preferred. Aunt Leonora should not think of parting with them, having been accustomed to them so many years; though, by the way, she could rarely be induced to go out for a ride. However, it was her wish to keep them; and as she had the means of doing so, if she chose, her wish was not opposed. With a little of aunt Priscilla's gentle influence, her sister was induced to admit that she should not need so many servants; and she consented to reduce her establishment to the old coachman and cook, with one of the housemaids, and a respectable, well-educated young person, who had been occasionally employed in the family, and who was to fill the place of humble companion, if ever aunt Leonora should prefer society to solitude; and to render herself generally useful. So much settled, aunt Leonora escaped to her books, leaving her sister to arrange with the rest of the domestics; and, indeed, to arrange with those she intended to retain, as to the changes in their situations. The proposals made by my aunt were equitable and considerate, and readily fallen in with by those to whom they were made. Old William and Sarah were by no means disposed, at their time of life, to seek a new situation; besides, it was not likely they should meet with one where they could both be employed and reside together. And then, too, it would have broken William's heart, to let any other person take to his horses; and Sarah thought she should never manage the cooking for another family, so well as for the one she had been so used to. She was sure they could, between them, do all that Miss Leonora would require, and think it no hardship. Deborah had saved plenty of money to live independently of service; but she should be miserable, if she had not some useful employment; she would rather remain in the family she had served so long; and, if she might speak, rather with Miss Priscilla, than with any other member of it. She was therefore well pleased to fall in with aunt Priscilla's offer, of placing the country residence under her care, during the absence of the proprietors. It was necessary that they should fix their residence in London, but it was thought desirable to retain the country house; it was not more than twelve miles from London, and would afford them an agreeable retreat, during the intervals of professional leisure. My aunt, too, thought she should principally reside there, in the absence of her husband on the circuits. The town house, to which aunt Priscilla was about to remove, was not large, and she wished to begin on a moderate scale. She intended to keep only two female servants, assisted by a lad, who | was not to reside in the house. Aunt Leonora's choice for a housemaid fell upon the young woman who had newly entered the family; and aunt Priscilla intended to take, as her housemaid, an orphan girl, whom she had almost entirely supported, since the death of her mother, and whom she wished to keep under her own immediate superintendence. But then, there was the elder housemaid at my grandfather's, unprovided for. Aunt Priscilla highly esteemed her, and would have engaged her, but for her compassionate purpose on behalf of the poor orphan. It was with no ordinary feelings of regret that my aunt intimated to Hannah, that it would be necessary for her to seek a new situation. The poor girl wept, and entreated that she might not be dismissed without a trial; she had never filled a cook's place, but she was quite willing to try and learn; and as she had not been unobservant of what she had seen, she really thought she might give satisfaction. If Miss Priscilla would but try her, she would willingly serve her a year for nothing. I need scarcely say, that one so heartily willing to try, could not fail of succeeding. As to James Faulkner, he, of course, was desirous of availing himself of the kind provision made for him, by the generosity of his departed master; and respectfully intimated his wish to enter on the farm, and take to himself a wife, as soon as the ladies could make it quite convenient to spare him." 66 A few weeks after these arrangements, the changes took place by which they were carried into effect. Aunt Leonora was left sole mistress of her residence in Queen square; with Miss Browne, the daughter of a minister, as her companion, Mary Stace for her housemaid, William Bailey for her coachman, and his wife Sarah for her cook. Aunt Priscilla, as Mrs. Maurice, settled in Lincoln's Inn fields, with Hannah Jones for her cook, and Elizabeth Varney for her housemaid. I suppose I must mention my little self as her protégé, companion, or pupil. We frequently went down to C. on a Saturday, and staid there till Monday or Tuesday, sometimes taking one of the servants; and were always heartily welcomed by the trusty old Deborah, and often receiving some kind and respectful mark of neighbourly attention from farmer Faulkner, and his very respectable spouse. In my future papers, I shall have more to say of the several parties introduced in this and will here only apprize the reader, what, however, he will have charitably concluded, that the house, whether in town or country, over which my aunt Priscilla and her excellent partner presided, was one of the tabernacles of the righteous, in which the voice of joy and praise is heard; and on which the blessing of God is engaged to rest, Psa. cxviii. 15; Prov. iii. 33.-C. ON GIVING UP THE WORLD. MISS Graham, in writing to a friend, makes the following remarks: I do not consider that giving up the world consists in renouncing its amusements, its company, its pursuits, so much as in putting off its temper and spirit, that we may put on the spirit and temper that was in Christ Jesus. When the spirit of the world is thus exchanged for the spirit of Christ, the amusements and gaieties of the world must (not, perhaps, all at once, but gradually and surely) come to be extremely vain and unsatisfying in our opinion; for though the word "communion with God" is considered as the mere creation of an en 66 66 thusiastic imagination, yet, if we will allow the Scriptures to be true, we must allow that there is such a thing as "holding fellowship with the Father and the Son;" as "walking with God," day by day, in perfect peace;" as having Christ living in us," and "his Holy Spirit abiding in us;" for by this, and by this only, can we know that we are in Christ, even by his Spirit which abideth in us. Now, let us suppose a person enjoying, not the flights of a false and self-seeking devotion; but real, sober, scriptural converse with God, and that daily; must not this be a happiness superior to any the world can give? See what David thought of it: "As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God. My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God. Thou, O Lord God, art the thing that I long for. Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee. My soul breaketh for the longing that it hath unto thy judgments at all times. In God is my salvation and my glory: the rock of my strength, and my refuge, is in God. My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness; and my mouth shall praise thee with joyful lips: when I remember thee," etc., etc. And so in a thousand songs of love has David left on record what he thought of "communion with God." What must have been Job's view of the subject, when he said, "My friends scorn me, but mine eye poureth out tears unto God. Oh that I knew where I might find him! that I might come even to his seat! I would order my cause before him, and fill my mouth with arguments." Isaiah's, when he said, "O Lord, the desire of our soul is to thy name, and to the remembrance of thee. With my soul have I desired thee in the night; yea, with my spirit within me will I seek thee early!" But I need not multiply proofs of what seems to me to need no proof; that communion with his Creator is the best, and noblest, and happiest thing of which a creature is capable. Then will not they who enjoy this communion very carefully avoid whatever may tend to rob them of it? They will soon find that converse with the world (unless as far as duty or necessity lead them into it) is not compatible with converse with God: for, if they conform to this world's habits and opinions, they deprive themselves of all scriptural claim to hope that God dwells in them, and they in him. But if, on the contrary, they are "transformed in the spirit of their minds," they will soon find that the world will dislike or ridicule them. But until we are delivered from the spirit of the world, I cannot see how we can reasonably be expected to see any harm whatever in the customs of the world. Let the world that dwells and rules within be deposed, and the world without will soon lose its undue influence over us. But let us "stick to" the Scriptures, as our rule and standard in every thing, (thus our doubts upon every subject will be quickly satisfied,) and let us study them with prayer, that he "who commanded the light to shine out of darkness would shine into our dark hearts, to give them the knowledge of the glory" of the gospel of God. We shall not ask in vain; for "God giveth wisdom liberally, and without upbraiding." May he give you that 66 wisdom which is from above," since not all the wisdom of this world can find out God. There are in the sacred word two rules, which, if kept in view, might be a lamp to guide our feet in the darkest and most perplexing moments. "Whether ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God." "Whatsoever ye do, in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus." Now, in going to a ball or a play merely to indulge my own vanity, or gratify my own inclination, I could not say, "I am doing this to the glory of God." I could not set about it "in the name of the Lord Jesus;" therefore, as a Christian, I think I have no right to do it at all. But if any one could go to the glory of God, I cannot dispute their right to going. In visiting my friends, and spending a little intercourse in social converse with them, I have no feeling of this kind to draw me back; for God has given us our friends, and therefore requires us to be active in every social duty; and religion has done little for us if it has taught us to be morose and unsociable; for the very soul of religion is to live not to our ourselves, but to others. Still, I think as far as we can, we should choose our friends rather among the friends of God than among the friends and followers of the world. You mention music; so far from thinking it wrong in all cases, I think in my own it is absolutely a religious duty to pursue music, as far as my health will permit; and I think the same with regard to you. But supposing we had no particular object in studying it, still I think that music, as affording a pleasing and innocent source of amusement to ourselves and others cannot be considered wrong, though I should think it wrong to give more than a very moderate time to it, or to let it encroach upon any other duty. For a real Christian, to say the least of it, has so great a work in hand; so many really important and interesting objects daily solicit his attention, excite his energies, and set every faculty of soul and body to work, that he or she can have very little time to throw away upon mere amusements. I have given you my opinion as well as I can, because you asked me, not because I wish or expect you to be guided by it; for I am persuaded that, if you continue searching the Bible with earnest prayer, God himself will lead you into every good and pleasant way. I have known many religious people who have not seen the necessity of separating themselves entirely from the world at first; but I never knew any one who did not see it at last. Let me, then, close this subject, dearest by calling to your remembrance that encouraging invitation in Corinthians: "Wherefore come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you, and will be a Father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith the Lord Almighty," 2 Cor. vi. 17, 18. THE WHITE LILY. IF in the petals of a flower you can see the workmanship of the adorable Creator; if you believe, know, and feel, that a heavenly hand has painted every floweret of the earth; the commonest daisy that ever bloomed on the wildest heath will give you pleasure. The white lily is a pure and gentle flower, having, nevertheless, a high and lofty bearing with it, insomuch that one is scarcely prepared for the meekness of its gaze upon a nearer view. It looks into your face with such serenity; such cold, calm sweetness, that we hardly know of a flower that is more loveable. There is a snowy whiteness, a purity, and shrinking delicacy in its ivory petals, that seems to awe the hand put forth to gather it, and to soften the heart that could wish it plucked from its place. Where does the white lily grow? It will grow by the crimson peony, and by the blue lupiu; by the yellow sunflower, and the red or party-coloured poppy, looking a lovely thing, unlike the rest, pale, pure, yet fearless, and even confident, holding high its snowy head amid the gay and gorgeous scene, with a dignified tranquillity. It will grow among the roses in a lady's bower, and bend in bright relief where the dark ivy twines. You shall find it suddenly in some shadowy turn or corner, where no other floweret grows. There you shall find a crowd of white lilies, clustering 'neath the shade of a laurel or a fir tree, or resting, as the snow flakes rest on the dark hedge behind. You shall see it amid a thousand flowers of a thousand colours, or you shall find it alone, without shade or shelter, fearless, but meek in its unblushing loveliness. Seek this flower at eventide, when the daylight is passing away; when the shadows are darker and deeper, and fair things look fairer; when the night breeze sweeps through the rustling trees, and the dew is falling from the sycamore leaf, and you shall see how the white lily will rock and bend in the twilight breeze. Or seek it when the moon is up, and the garden is hushed and still; while the red rose sleeps in the shade, the white lily will look out with a fairer smile, loving better such cool, calm light than the beam of the midday sun. We attach nothing of hope or joy to this flower; it has a passive look, and tells, for the most part, of tranquillity. Go when you have a scowl upon your brow; when your spirit is ruffled; when your lip is curled with some resentful, indignant feeling; when there is anger in your heart, and restlessness in your eye; go look upon the white lily; stoop until your forehead is laved with its cold, curling leaves; stoop until the air you breathe is the breath of its sweetness, and hurry not away. The tumult of your own breast shall be hateful to you, calmer feeling shall dispel the cloud upon your brow, peaceful thoughts_shall still the tempest of your heart. It may be the tear will come to your eye. Hurry not away; endure that floweret's mild and placid look until your cheek is glowing with the tinge of shame; and then-ay, then-when your heart is humbled, thank the Father of mercies for that tranquillity which a flower has been the means of im parting to the bosom of one of his rebellious creatures. |