happiness of a pure æthereal essence emanates from something so infinitely refined, as can never enter into the conception of mortality: for eye hath not seen, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive the good things which God hath prepared for them that love him.'"

"I admit this, also," said the Doctor," and entirely concur in the general sentiment which you have expressed; but the happiness of which the souls in Hades are partakers we are not perhaps to consider so exquisitely refined and æthereal, as that which they are hereafter to enjoy at the consummation of all things. Do not, however, misunderstand me; I open no ground for the belief here of any thing approximating to the doctrine of Purgatory. In the intermediate state there is no putting off the corruptive stain of sin: no virtue is there to be acquired, no vice to be washed away; for there is no repentance in the grave, whither ye must all go;' and where the tree falls, there it lies.' What I would infer is, that we may conceive the soul in Hadēs to be allied more nearly to what is earthly then, than when it is admitted to its final state of refinement; and yet we have

the testimony of Christ for knowing that the Angels in heaven, who have attained the highest and most exalted perfection, look down from above with the eye of watchful solicitude on the frail children of mortality, and exult when they perceive them turning from the evil of their ways unto him who created them; for 'there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth.""

"This," said Matilda, "in a great degree removes my objection; and whether it be the case or not, I shall in future consider every action of my life as known by the blessed spirits of our dear departed parents, and from such a consideration I shall ever derive a stimulus to be good, virtuous, and religious, as I shall conceive it to enhance their spiritual peace and joy; and this I know has long since been your determination too, Ellen."

"At all events," said the Doctor, "you have enough that is clearly and explicitly revealed on this subject to afford you the greatest consolation, and to make it evident that such is the nature of our beautiful system of religion, that while it has an invariable influence to make mankind pious, it has equally the uniform tendency to make them happy."

35

THE SUICIDE.

WHAT Complication of severe distress,
What inward terrors words can ill express,
What starts convulsive, and what inward throes,
That mark the absence of the soul's repose,
Does conscience kindle in his troubled heart
Who, feels, deep-rankling, Sin's remorseless smart!
That still small voice more dreadful sounds conveys
Than e'er the syren Vice could pleasure raise;
Speaks with a tone that all the man confounds,
And probes, with goading stings, Guilt's lurid wounds.
And thus, all impotent of peace or rest,

The soul's awaken'd feelings are confest:

"At length 'tis done! The useless strife is o'er; Vain is resistance, contest is no more.

Long have I braved the still recurring tide
Of deathless Conscience with a Sceptic's pride;
Long have I held the veil before my eyes,
To perpetrate Religion's sacrifice,
And with a magic web around me flung,
Allured the weak, the credulous, the young:
But now the vision, bubble-like, recedes,
And leaves me prey to hell and hellish deeds.

I, who so long conspired the world to cheat,
Fall, baffled victim! by my own deceit.
In this dread hour, when life itself decays,
And the slow tide in sluggish currents strays,
When strength grows weak, and all the outward man
Enfeebled, gains its constituted span

I feel-I feel a something living still,
Superior to the body's grosser will-

A something, which, as fades my trembling breath,
Whispers defiance to thy triumphs, Death!
A something, not unknown, that oft has striven
Against my crimes, and beacon'd me to heaven.
TO HEAVEN! dread name! oh, how my spirits sink!
'Tis not for me! I stand on Ruin's brink -
Beneath me yawns a precipice—and see!
The grinning fiends their firebrands point to me.
Oh save me! save me! Hold, my bursting heart!
Avaunt, ye demon crew! my inward smart
Needs not your fires! Oh, whither shall I turn?
Burn, burn, ye flames, with quenchless blazing burn!
Alas! I sink. Oh! could I breathe that name
Which can alone these raging furies tame-
That name which saves the just,-they would retire:
That name would quench their never-dying fire.

"Were mine the treasures of exhaustless wealth,
And they could purchase shortest space of health,
How eager would I buy a day, an hour!
But, no; 'tis just! a retributive power
Vengeance demands. I feel the flame within
Hell gapes; its blazings must atone my sin.
I sink! I sink beneath the Eternal's rod,
And own, in death, thy justice, RIGHTEOUS GOD!"

"These lines," said Mr. Deacon to his venerable Rector, as they drew round the fire after a social dinner, distinguished rather by simplicity than sumptuousness, "These lines were an early production: they are somewhat rough, but I well remember that I felt myself much interested in the composition of them. I was on a visit to a highly-respected dignitary of the Church, when an event occurred which gave rise to them."

"Deacon," said the Rector, "yours is a happy disposition. You seem to have employed your early years well, and spent in observation that time which is too frequently given up to idle and unprofitable pleasures.”

"That I have in some measure been enabled to do so, I thank God. The satisfaction to be derived from a retrospect of a youth well spent, must, I am sure, be great indeed; for to me, who can but very imperfectly apply to myself your observation, there is a perpetual source of thankfulness: what, then, must it be to those who have measured their time by an improvement much superior to mine! But there are others, for whom one cannot but feel very deeply, who enter upon the first scene of active life with all the eagerness natural to their years,