feelings of piety; but little did she anticipate the disclosure that was then made. duce their mistress to form an unsuitable connexion, which might embitter her future days. Poor Sarah said she should be easy now Miss Priscilla (for so she could not help still calling her) was aware of it; but she could not bear to think of leaving the world, or even the cerned the welfare of her mistress, who had been a good mistress to her and her husband, and would have been better, but for the artful tricks of one who had gained far too great an ascendency over her. Too many circumstances tended to corroborate the apprehensions of Sarah, to allow my aunt to treat the information with neglect. She hastened to consult my uncle, who at once perceived that a prompt and vigorous effort was necessary to snatch their well-meaning, but eccentric relative from the snares of a vile fortune hunter. Aided by the clue which old Sarah had been able to furnish, my uncle soon obtained such information as enabled him fully to convince aunt Leonora of the perilous situation in which she was placed. It required some effort to gain access to her, and win her confidence; but, when these were obtained, her better principles prevailed over her weakness, and she promptly discarded her unprincipled suitor and her treacherous servants. By this timely discovery the worst consequences were averted; but she had already been inveigled out of property to a very considerable amount, and her health received a shock from which it never recovered. She was met by the housemaid, who laboured hard to keep her back from visiting the sick woman, representing her disorder as infectious, her state so excitable that the visit might prove in-house, with that upon her mind that conjurious, and the delirious wanderings of her mind such as to render her incapable of rational conversation. But my aunt was not to be thus repulsed. She had been earnestly entreated to come, and to come at that particular time; and she felt herself too much at home in the house to require either permission or direction from a comparatively new servant. Finding that her sister was gone out in the carriage, attended by Mary Stace, my aunt proceeded to Sarah's room, and found her exceedingly ill, but perfectly calm and collected in her mind, and in a state that excited no sort of apprehension of infection. She had experienced a slight paralytic seizure, which, though it in some measure affected her speech, left | her mind as sound as ever. If she discovered anything like irritation, it was at the obtrusive officiousness of her fellow servant, who seemed determined not to leave the room until ordered to do so in a tone of firmness not to be misunderstood. At Sarah's entreaty, my aunt ascertained that she was not lingering to listen at the door; and to preclude the possibility of it, she fastened the door at the stair head. The sick woman then told my aunt that she had long had reason to believe that Mary was an unfaithful and treacherous servant, and that since she had been the almoner, the bounty of her mistress had been sadly diverted from its proper channel; and that of late, she and William had been apprehensive that a more extensive plan of deception had been going on. They feared that the unsuspecting mistress was becoming the dupe of crafty servants, in a manner that would affect her happiness much more than the loss of property to ever so serious an amount. A certain gentleman was mentioned, as frequently visiting my aunt; on this, Sarah observed, she and her husband would not have presumed to make a remark; their mistress had a right to choose her own society; but from their knowledge that constant correspondence was secretly carried on between this person and the two female servants, they could not but suspect some scheme to in She lived between three and four years after this affair, and they were unquestionably the happiest years of her life. She indeed smarted keenly for her own imprudence, but her temper and feelings were mellowed. She allowed herself to taste the pleasures of family affection and confidence. She mixed more in society; society of the most select kind; and she learned to admit that persons may acquire a large fund of valuable knowledge without being always poring over books; she became acquainted with the pleasure of imparting as well as acquiring knowledge; and, best of all, she was enabled to substitute the religion of the heart for a mere pharisaical round of lifeless observances. She renounced her former righteousness, became deeply convinced of her guilt, and humbled in penitence at the foot of the cross, received the atonement, and thus was enabled not only to realize peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, but also to joy in tribulation, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God. I can scarcely convey an adequate idea of the change displayed in my aunt's temper and manners during these last few years of her life. She discovered an amiableness of disposition and frankness and courtesy of manner, and cheerfulness of spirit unknown before. Her society was attractive instead of repellant. She proved herself willing to learn from, and able to instruct, those with whom she came into contact. The alteration was especially marked in her kindness to, and affection for the young. She became willing and pleased to impart to them the rich treasures she had acquired by extensive reading; and even the humbling, yet profitable lessons she had learned in the school of experience. She often bewailed the time and opportunities she had lost, while (to use her own expression) she was buried alive among books, instead of working while it was day. She urged us always to consider the value and utility of our pursuits, and count the cost of our acquirements, so as neither to spend our labour and resources for that which is no profit, nor to bury talents and acquirements which might be useful, and for which we must give an account. Depend upon it," she would say, "it is only at the expense of due attention to essential things, that people can inordinately devote themselves to secondary things." 66 as an erring sister, and say, Come, and let us return unto the Lord: for he hath torn, and he will heal us; he hath smitten, and he will bind us up," Hos. vi. 1. Old Sarah Bailey, though she never regained her former vigour and activity, outlived my aunt several years. She and her husband were comfortably provided for, my aunt often declaring, that she felt herself laid under obligations to their fidelity and attachment which she could never repay. I believe the faithful old people felt themselves abundantly requited in having been instrumental in breaking the snare into which their honoured lady had so nearly fallen.-C. CONSCIENCE. CONSCIENCE is peculiar to the human mind: nothing analogous with it exists in the inferior animals; and, indeed, from its nature, it manifestly belongs only to a creature accountable for his actions, since to none other would it be important to pass a judgment upon its own acts, and thoughts, and words. And as an attribute of mind, not possessed by brutes, it forms a proof of the existence of that superadded immaterial spirit which constitutes the great difference between man and the lower animals. Conscience, then, is a kind of instinctive moral faculty, which passes judgment upon conduct, whether right or wrong; which forms the terror of the wicked by its upbraidings, and haunts him night and day with the fearfulness of discovery, and the apprehension of the Divine anger; while to the good its approving smiles support him in adversity; conscious rectitude will enable him to brave the evils and injustice of time, to rise superior to all the tauntings of this world's ingratitude, to bear to be thought and spoken ill of, to submit to have his words and actions misinterpreted, and to be carried buoyant through all the difficulties of life. Where is to be found any analogous principle, elsewhere than in rational, moral, spiritual man? Among the many satisfactions that attended the closing years of aunt Leonora's life, her entire and cordial reconciliation with my dear mother was not one of the least. It is one good fruit of the discipline we undergo when smarting for our own errors and follies, if it teaches us to exercise candour and forgiveness towards those of other people. My poor aunt, while cherishing the spirit of self-exaltation and fancied superiority, ("Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment,") was little disposed cordially to embrace her who came saying, Conscience is independent of education, "Father, I have sinned against heaven, though it may be improved by culture. and in thy sight," Luke xv. 21, 29: but It is discoverable with the earliest devewhen she, too, was by bitter experience lopement of mind; as soon as a child convinced of her own weakness and falli- knows right from wrong, it will pass senbility, she was prepared not only to return tence on its own actions, and the counteto the Lord with weeping and supplica-nance will frequently betray the little tion, but affectionately to take by the offender; while, in after life, the crimson hand one whom she had so long despised glow of shame, and the altered features, will often tell the torturing monitions of this interior judge, and will reveal even those thoughts of the heart which are scarcely acknowledged by the individual to himself. A still stronger proof of the power of conscience is to be found in the fact, that the very idea of being thought wrong, or having one's actions misconstrued, or even the recollection of those embarrassing circumstances which have previously, though unjustly, produced "confusion of faces," will renew that confusion, and will throw over the countenance the appearance of inexplicable blushing. This fact shows the great injustice which may be done to the most innocent, and the care which should be taken not to judge from appearances, than which nothing can be more deceptive, though they strongly illustrate the power of the faculty. Conscience is possessed in various degrees by different individuals: thus, there may be a tender conscience in one, a hardened conscience in another, an unenlightened conscience in a third, a stifled conscience in a fourth, a scrupulous conscience in a fifth, a capricious conscience in a sixth, and a fitful conscience in a seventh. And these differences are mainly dependent on the kind of education the individual has received, and the degree in which the voice of conscience has been fostered or opposed, the frequency with which it has been listened to or disregarded, and the influence of habit in rendering more obtuse or acute its sensibility. That conscience will be the soundest which exists in a mind strong by nature,one which has been enlarged by study, which has been imbued with just principles of moral and religious action, which has been accustomed to review its own decisions, and to weigh them in the balance of good, as connected with the wants of society and the laws of God; and which has habitually referred every portion of conduct, not to the feeling and inclination of the moment, but to the immutable principles of truth. Thus will conscience be uniform in its awards; it will be tender without being irritable; it will be firm without sternness; unyielding without obstinacy; and consistent in every society, amidst the approving smile of friends or the frowns of enemies,proof against the shafts of ridicule, and the still more difficultly-resistible weapon of persuasion from those whom we love, and admire, and esteem. It is evident, from all this, that conscience must attach to spiritual existence, and, consequently, must form a proof of the immateriality of mind; and its perversions, its want of regularity, its apparent assumption for sinister purposes, are all so many proofs of some perverting agency having passed upon this originally good principle. Thus the conscience becomes hardened by a long course of inattention to its strivings with man ; it is unenlightened in those who willingly are ignorant of the moral code laid down for their guidance; it is stifled by others, who, persisting in a course of evil, in opposition to their better judgments, must silence its uneasy warnings, in order to save themselves from the constant gnawing of bitter reflection; it is scrupulous in those who, attending more to the appearance of conduct before man, than to the reality of the principles from which it springs, are everywhere afraid to act, lest others should think them wrong, and thus too generally lose the opportunities for action, while they are debating the fruitless question of what others think of them; it is capricious in those who having no settled principles of action, will act, or abstain from action, under very similar circumstances, and without having a good reason to give for either course of conduct; it is fitful in those who will be very conscientious to-day, and relax their principles to-morrow, according to some change in their circumstances or associations ; and it is often counterfeited by those who know that reason, and principle, and goodness, will be the best passport to certain advantages, and who really assume the appearance of this invaluable possession, in order that they may pass in the rank of friendship with those others who sincerely wish to do their duty to God and their neighbour. Now, where will there be found any approach to the existence and influence of such faculty except in man, in whom is superadded the spiritual principle which is destined to survive the wreck of his organization? It may be safely answered, Nowhere. But if so, it follows that man possesses an unique principle superadded to his other common and ordinary mental manifestations-distinct from them, and belonging to him only, because he is a moral creature, and an heir of immortality.-Newnham. NOVELLA. A SKETCH FROM LIFE. The languid lady next appears in state, YOUNG. HAD the subject of this sketch sat to the satirist who supplies it with a motto, he could not have drawn a picture more to the life. Whilst perusing it, I imagine I have the living original now before me. There is something morally obnoxious in these selfish creatures, who, because an all-bountiful Providence has allowed them a provision for life, not subject to the general condition of obtaining it by labour, fancy that their feet were not formed for walking, nor their hands for working, and that they may loll upon that invention of luxury, "the accomplished sofa," at ease, and with impunity. Those who are thus favoured, are of all persons in the world most imperatively called upon to be active; active for the sake of their own health and comfort; active for the sake of justifying the goodness of God to themselves; active for the sake of suffering humanity, whose miseries they have been blest with the means of alleviating. The head of the sick man lies languishing on the bed of pain, asking relief at their hands; the widow weeps a copious shower of tears for them to dry; the orphan looks up to them for that tender care which may imperfectly supply that of the departed; every where the poor are waiting to hear the sound of their feet upon the threshold, that they may rise up and meet them with blessings on their tongues; and children are looking for them from the doors of every cottage, to come and assist them to plume their wings, to take a long flight, even to heaven. These are some of the duties of the rich; and they have others, calling upon them with a trumpet-tone, for zealous exertions in their performance; namely, those of a social, relative, and religious description. These, however, the race of Novellas consider as new-fangled ideas, which merely serve to show, that I am fond of new things. The world, gentle reader, is not what it once was, nor what it ought to be. Man, and all things therein, were made perfect; but he, having "sought out many inventions," has defaced not only his own godlike form, but that semblance of paradise, the world. Observest thou yonder rank thistle, and yonder piercing thorn? They are sown, and planted, and watered, and nourished, by man's transgression. "But what reference," say you, "has this to Novella?" It proves the possibility that I am right in my notions, and that Novella and her tribe, rather than myself, are open to the charge of doting upon novelty. Ay, there it is. Novella, having all her time at her own disposal, conceived that she could not better employ it, than in the search for novelties, among which novels themselves naturally occupied a commanding and attractive place. In this conjecture she was far from being wrong. Novels are the strange productions of that strange creature man. In them we may see his perverted intellect casting forth its sparks of wit, as a madman doth his firebrands. And what effect they have upon the ignitible feelings of the softer sex, daily experience teaches us. Taught by these works, they learn to look upon vice as virtue, to view truth through a distorted medium, and to convert fiction into reality, and realities into the dreams of a distempered fancy. Novella was once asked, "What is life?" and she replied, "A vision." This answer was near enough the truth, but it was uttered at random; for when she was further interrogated, "What is death?" she made the same reply. The imagination of Novella was ludicrously lively and comprehensive, and was by no means confined to excursions in the regions of heroism and romance. If it was her province to degrade the nobles, she knew, also, how to pursue a different course. Thus, she called her spaniel "her little man," and made it lie by her side on a miniature sofa: and once, when it was sick, she caused it to be attended by her physician, "like" as she expressed it, "another Christian!" The same feeling was carried by Novella into all the relations of life. Her servants appeared, in her sight, as fairies who were to obey her bidding by enchantment. Well pleased was she to see them lightly flitting about the house, intent on the fulfilment of her orders. All this must be lamentable in the sight of a tact be but accidental and temporary; unless, indeed, by the blessing of God, the evil be perceived, and its deformity startle the gazer into timely flight. Once, in by-gone days, was the writer of this paper induced to take up one of the most baneful of these works, tempted, partly by the desire to mark its effects upon his own passions, and thus to test the influence it must have on those of others. Α few pages did their work, but happily it was the work of warning, not of temptation. He was enabled calmly to consign the volume to the flames.-F. sober-thinking, and non-novel-reading [ the mind and the heart, though the conmind. But worse remains to be recorded. Her habitual reading, and indulgence of wild fancies had impaired the intellect of Novella. Our good old rector was in her sight "a great magician," who could, by his potent wand, dismiss souls from earth to heaven; and the ordinances which he administered were looked upon by her as so many scenes in a drama. It was a play, however, in which she believed that no unimportant part was cast to her. She considered herself as one of its leading personages. Adorned with gaudy plumes, she took her seat on the sabbath in one of the finest pews in our old Saxon edifice, in which were the pillow and ottoman, inviting sloth; and the very glance of her eye proclaimed the fearfully perverted mind. To return, however, to Novella's dwelling, the fairy land of which she was the delirious denizen, and the ideal personages with whom she there walked handin-hand. Who, in this coarse rude world of grovelling realities and hourly cares, could compare with the characters she conversed with in novels? As Eudoxia, who slew her lord, and then walked calmly into the chapel belonging to her mansion, and wedded another? Who possessed such attractive grace, such matchless excellence as Fulvia, albeit to vulgar eyes her guilt is written in every page of her fancied history? These, in Novella's estimation, were perfect examples to follow, exquisite and faultless models to copy, and it was her delight to dream away the day, in re-producing the situations, and enacting the deeds recorded by the romancist. "Society, friendship, and love," which were so thirsted after by Alexander Selkirk in his desert isle, were, to Novella, all compressed in a new romance. Engrossed by this, she would forego every duty; and as for those of a domestic kind, they were beneath her notice. She left them to the reluctant care of her lord, and the uncertain charge of servants. Why were matters so mean and sordid to interfere with her daydreams, to be brought into competition with her air-drawn felicities? And this not over-drawn picture of a perverted mind, whence was the origin of its delusion, but in constant and indiscriminate novel reading? The majority of such works exhibit vice in so attractive a shape, that youth fall in love with it, and irrevocable injury is often done to A GREENLANDER'S LAMENT AT THE THE following extract from the funeral TRUTH. TRUTH not unfrequently forms the middle point between two extremes.Pascal. |