expressed herself most anxious to be guided in all she did by religion and reason, and not by the caprices of her own mind.

"I hope, Mr. Smith," said she, in conclusion, and with her wonted arch countenance, "that you will not have occasion to compare me to Mr. Snow again."

"Mr. Snow!" repeated I, having forgotten the conversation she alluded to.

"Do

"Yes," said she, "Mr. Snow; for Mr. Snow, you said, hated bondage, and so, I told you, did I; and O," added she, in a serious tone, "O, what was that bondage I often hated? was it not the perfect freedom of God's service? Mr. Smith, I know I have been a capricious vain girl, but I trust it will not always be so." Here she paused, but quickly proceeded, in a gayer mood, you think, Mr. Smith, that I should have chosen our homespun Jabez for a husband, if I had not found out that religion is better than all worldly greatness and finery? I can tell you, Mr. Smith, I have had a hard battle to fight with myself, but it is all over now. I am quite happy and contented. I believe that Mr. Reynolds's good sense and religion will keep me in order; and I do assure you I have had but one bargain to make with him, and I do not think that he will be disposed to break it; and that is, that he will not take me from the Church."

I could not help thinking in my own mind that it is better, in marriage, that there should not be

H H

two minds on any subject connected with religion, and that there should be no need for bargains; but, however, in this case Lucy had done far better than could have been expected, and I did not apprehend, from what I knew of both parties, they would continue long of two opinions on any subject. I therefore expressed myself much pleased with what she had told me, and said, as I really thought, and, I am sure, sincerely hoped, that there was very little question that she and her husband would be happy together, and that in the best sense of the word, and especially since they enjoyed the great gratification of having taken this important step so fully and entirely to the satisfaction of her father. And so closed our discourse.

At an early hour the little party dispersed, and no night of terrors followed the entertainment of the evening; for I believe no entertainment had been proposed or enjoyed upon which a blessing had not or might not have been sought.

CHAPTER XVII.

A HOUSE OF TROUBLE.

A WEEK had scarcely elapsed after the entertainment I described in my last chapter, as given by Lucy to her neighbours, when, as I was sitting in the afternoon by my fireside, Susan setting the tea-things for ourselves and Mr. and Mrs. Williams, who had called in to spend an hour or two with us, my nephew came in and sat down among us with a look of some perturbation.

"Where have you been, nephew?" said I.

"I come," said he, " from a house of sorrow; and I suppose, ," he added, "I need make no secret here of what I have heard, for we are all friends of the Patersons."

"Well," said I, "what have you heard?" "Why," replied he, "James Paterson is gone off to America."

"No such bad news," cried Susan, laughing. "Not to you," said my nephew, "but it's bad news to his family, and therefore we ought not to amuse ourselves with it, sister. His mother takes

it to heart, and Sophy has been almost in hysterics since the letter came, and you may be sure that all this is a grief to Clara."

"Well," said I, "let us have the particulars of the business: how did you hear all this?”

6

"I just ran over this afternoon," answered he, "intending to stay only a few minutes, with a tune I had copied out for Clara, which we sang the other night at the school, and I found her in tears, and all the house in confusion. And when I enquired what was the matter, she said to me, 'Oh, Mr. Henry, my brother James will never come back to us!' I am sure I was ready to say, like Susan, That's good news;' but when I saw Clara's grief, I could not say so, or think so, for pity. She told me that the day after Lucy's feast he had set off, as he said, to Sheffield, and told his mother that he might very likely go to Liverpool before he came back. Now, as he had often business at Sheffield, besides many friends there, his mother thought nothing of his going, and was expecting him back, as usual, this very night; and even the knock of the postman she thought might be his, but instead of James, in came his letter, which Clara shewed me."

Well," said I, "what does the letter say?" "It was to his mother," replied my nephew, "and it was very short. He said he should never be happy at Queenswood any more, for he could not bear to see Lucy Price, as he called her, living happily so near him, nor his sister Sophy sinking

by degrees into the grave; and therefore, as he could neither give comfort nor receive it at home, he had determined upon leaving it; and an opportunity unexpectedly offering of going to America under very favourable circumstances, he should immediately embrace it. He wished his mother and sisters all happiness, but they must not expect to see him again for many a day."

“What did he mean," said Susan, "by Sophy's sinking into the grave?"

"A few days ago," returned my nephew, "the doctor was sent for to Sophy, and he pronounced her illness, for she has been unwell for some time, to be a decline, and that he did not think she would ever get over it. He did not say this to Sophy or her mother, but only to James and Clara."

"And was this a time," cried Mrs. Williams, "for the son to choose to leave his mother? just as she was about to experience such a trial as the loss of a daughter?"

"I fear," said Frederick, "that James thinks more of himself than of his mother or any one else, though, perhaps, we have no right to judge; but, at least, his conduct shews this."

"Clara may grieve," said I, "because her mother and her sister grieve, but she will soon find herself more happy without her brother."

"She once was more happy," said my nephew, "but I am afraid that Sophy is now quite estranged from her: I know that at this very time