ness, however, like happiness, is not the inhabitant of places, but of persons; and Lefevre found himself at home, without any mitigation of his pains. He locked his door, and threw himself on some chairs that were near it, overcome with that stupor which follows bodily exhaustion, and acute mental sufferings. Thus he lay for some hours." Vol. II. page 49.

Reason and hope, no longer casting their occasional glimmerings on the victim of forbidden passions, Lefevre returns to intemperance. Intemperance disorders his business and his employers ask a statement of his accounts.

To be suspected after ten years of faithful services fill up the measure of his sufferings! Indignant and self. condemned, delirium and despair come next-despair of all peace in this world, or in that to come! Despair settles down into melancholy-he escapes from his weeping friends into the country, and is tempted by the sight of a river to drown himself!

"The side to the water rose perpendicularly about four feet above the surface, and descended several feet below it. To this elevation Lefevre ascended. He walked to and fro, agitated with those throes of passion, which, by the torment they gave, biassed his mind to the sinister resolution. Weary of action, and weary of life, he sat himself on the stones at the very verge of the river. This was the moment of trial! The night had come on. Obscurity had fallen on every thing but the waters; on them the moon-beams played with most fascinating sweetness. Lefevre's frame was heated with fever and exercise; no

breeze was stirring to invigorate it; the river alone looked

cool and refreshing, and seemed inviting him to its very bosom. He listened-not a sound was to be heard. He looked round-not a living creature was to be seen. His purpose strengthened he started on his feet. His spirit shuddered with horror-not at the leap to the waters-but at the idea of rushing into the presence of the great God he had offended! He walked about in agitation-sat down again. He postponed a purpose which he had not power either to break or full-he would do it when the tide came to a certain height. His aching eye hung over the bank, watching the awful progress of the rippling waters. Now they ran over the stone, which was to fill up the measure of his time-but they sank again! The blood fell back to his heart, and the sweat drops sprang on his forehead! Now again the little waves ripple over the mark-andsubside no more! He rises from his seat for the last time! He starts to see a person in the path which ran along the bottom of the bank. He paused to get the stranger out of sight. This was not so readily done. He waited-and waited; and, at last concluding the intruder meant to watch him, he descended to the pathway, and left the place, full of indignation." Vol. II. page 102.

Thus happily discovered, he is restored to his distracted mother, but the solicitude of his friends moves him only to the determination of hiding his disgraced head. He finds an opportunity to abscond again, and enlists in a regiment ordered to Canada. The last glimpse of his native land effected what every other effort had failed to doit is thus beautifully described.

"The ship now stood out to sea, and every object was

distanced to his sight. He painfully felt each inch of the way the vessel made. Soon the light of day became fainter, and the distance more considerable; till England only appeared as a promontory on which nothing could be distinguished, except the deep fogs that surrounded its foot, and the dim, heavy glory that pressed its summit. Imagination still ran over its favourite spots, and his affections, so long inactive, obstinately clung to his friends, now the hand of time threatened to separate him from them for His distressed thoughts flew from thing to thing, and from one beloved person to another, busy but restless; as though the opportunity of dwelling on them would be lost to him, immediately the receding point of land should sink in the dark horizon. The vessel heaved-and his eye was thrown from the dear spot on which it hung! He shifted his position—and strained every nerve of sight to recover it. Now he saw it! no, it was a mist! Now!

ever.

no,

it was a wave! Still his eye pierced to the line that bounded the sky and water; but, no-nothing could be found!-Indescribable anguish swelled within him. A thousand tender ties seemed snapped at once. All the smothered sentiments of friendship, of filial affection, of local endearment, invigorated by the love of country, a passion so often found to survive other attachments, rose in his soul. The depths of sorrow were broken up-tears gushed from his eyes-he sank down on the deck, and long and bitterly did he weep!" Vol. II. page 156.

Salutary were the tears of Lefevre.-They relieved the gloomy torpor of his soul.

"The light of heaven seemed beaming through the

separating clouds of melancholy, and his whole conduct appeared to him in a totally new point of view. He was confounded at his own folly and presumption, in tearing himself from the bosom of his friends, and his native country. The name of his mother quivered on his lips, while he thought, for the first time seriously, of the ago nies she must have suffered through his rashness. Soft. ened by filial love, his mind turned to religious objects." Vol. II. page 158.

"Painful was it to think of the pious entreaties he had slighted-of the privileges he had cast away—of the talents he had squandered-of the immortal hopes he had pawned to a base and deceitful world!"-"His heart filled." "O God!" he cried, with emotions made up of sorrow, humility, and love; and the tears of regret were changed into those of generous penitence!

Arrived in Canada, the penitent becomes once more excellent, active, and useful. He writes to his friends, and after a considerable time they procure his discharge. The "fatted calf" is killed to receive the "prodigal son," and joy again illumines the virtuous group. It is hard to part with our hero without marrying him to the worthy Miss D. as any common writer would have done--but this is "No Fiction"-Miss D. had perhaps repented of her resolution-and given her hand to another—but for the honour of "incurable love" this fact must be concealed. We have given large extracts to show the powers of our author, in making an unpopular subject delightful.

Throughout there is much beautiful description, much pathos-sound sense-and sound piety.

We are tempted to give one more passage, which is so in nature" so truly womanly," that we should think no man could have conceived it. The time, is the day of Lefevre's return to his first lodging and the kind Mrs. Russell's introducing him to his former rooms.

"The minute thus stolen from ceremony, was given to the exercise of a lively and delicate affection. It gave Mrs. Russell opportunity to assure herself that all was arranged as she would have it. Her truly womanly eye offended instantly by the want of order and proportion, ran over the room. Every thing was in its place—the whole looked well. Yet, there was an unaccountable itching in her fingers, to give a touch to all things. She stroked the plaits of the curtains-regulated the drop of the blinds to the light and to each other—ran her hand along the surface of the book-shelves-shifted the desk and chair about half an inch-hastened into the anti-chamber, passing her fingers over the counterpane as she went-and opened, finally, the linen-drawer, to see that nothing there was rumpled. All this was done in a shorter time than is required to tell it; and being done, Mrs. Russell took her stand in the middle of the room, waiting to mark with glistening eyes, the first impression on Lefevre." Vol. II. page 273.

This is a very serious book, intended for instruction, not amusement, yet it is so beautifully written-so truly interesting, that we cannot believe those who begin, will leave it unfinished. If the people of England have read five editions, will the people of America stop at two? Are we less disposed to encourage literature or are we less dis