moment, so in I walked with desperate resolution, feeling that there was no help for it, though my knees trembled and my heart beat violently, and my colour went and came. The blaze of light reflected by the glass and brightly polished silver on the sideboards and the table dazzled me for a moment, and the sound of knives and plates, the hum of many voices, and even the noiseless gliding to and fro of the assiduous waiters, was so bewildering that I stood still in confusion till the stately old butler came forward to say that Mrs. Clinford wished to speak to me.

"I am very happy to see you, Miss Trevor," she said, extending her hand with frigid politeness; and then followed the usual commonplace remarks on the journey, inquiries concerning my family, and hopes that my visit would be agreeable. In a few minutes, however, she released me from my unpleasantly prominent position by pointing to a chair next to her daughter, with whom she observed that I must contrive to be very friendly. Though this young lady was desired by her mother to take care of me she paid little regard to the maternal behest, but honouring me with very little attention, kept up a lively fire of repartee with her other neighbour. This neglect, though not very flattering, gave me time to take mental portraits of the principal persons with whom I was to be associated during the next few weeks. Mrs. Clinford was the first object of my scrutiny, and I flattered myself that I understood her immediately; for in the fine lady, whose age was, by the arts of her maid and milliner, made to seem a dozen years less than the half century that she had lived, I recognized a character familiar to me in books, but which I had never until then met in real life. Her husband I at once set down to be a bluff, honest, and kind-hearted man, worthy of a better partner. Of their daughter, whom I had heard spoken of as a brilliant and lovely girl, I formed a less definite opinion. She was about my own age, though her slight figure and pretty spoilt-child air made her look much younger. She was not beautiful, but she had a sparkling expression that prevented a critical examination of her features, and cheated you into the belief that she was charming. Her manners were easy and graceful, but I fancied that there was some affectation in her apparent naïveté, and that the becoming simplicity of her dress was the result rather of elaborate study than of accident or natural taste. The rest of the party consisted of ordinary well-bred people, with the exception of two ladies whose appearance struck me very much. One of them, whom I heard called Miss Gordon, rather frightened me by the gravity of her behaviour and the

her ear.

sarcastic smile which crossed her plain and strongly-marked countenance whenever any remark superlatively silly caught She spoke little, and in her black velvet dress, with its collar of snowy cambric fastened at the throat by a diamond clasp, she looked more like an old picture mysteriously animated and come out of its frame, than a mortal who had passed through the various stages of existence from infancy to middle-aged womanhood.

A contrast to her in every way was the Lady Grace Lyall, a delicate, fragile, and amiable creature in the decline of life, who, nevertheless, at sixty endeavoured to retain the freshness of sixteen. Her place by General Clinford was vacant because a draught occasioned her some apprehension, so she sat in an easy chair by his wife, who treated her with a deference contrasting with the indifference manifested towards her other guests.

These observations were my principal amusement during that interminable dinner. At length the mistress of the house rose and led the way to the drawing-room, where, after some vapid chat, music was proposed, and one after another of the young ladies contributed to fill up the pauses in the conversation, and gave their listeners-hearers I should rather say-an excuse for sitting still and saying nothing.

Suddenly Lady Grace began to hum a plaintive air, but not remembering it correctly looked round the group by the piano, saying, "Can any of you sing this? I am sure you will, my dear," and she looked at me. "What is your name?"

"Edith Trevor," I answered.

'Well, Miss Trevor, do you know this tune?"

"I think so; is it not the air of a little German song?" Ah, my dear, I see that you know it quite well. I really forget what the words are about; will you tell me?"

I believe that she spoke to me from pure good-nature, and from compassion for my uncomfortable condition, for I stood shyly near the others, yet apart from them, and not daring to join in their merry nonsense. So, out of gratitude, I made an effort to meet her advances, and replied hurriedly and in a rather low tone, "A slumberer beholds in a dream his guardian angel, who once in mortal form trod life's path with him, and now watches over his steps from above, and he prays that they may again be united. His petition is granted, for his spirit passes away in his sleep, and is welcomed by the blessed soul that had gone before."

Thank you, my dear; now will you sing it for me?"

I stammered out some excuse, for I felt that it would be

impossible for me to do so, and as Miss Clinford was sitting down at the instrument I had a reprieve. With a confidence that I envied her she executed a difficult Italian piece, which was, however, unsuited to her thin soprano, for though some of her notes were clear and ringing she could not sustain them firmly enough to give the intensity of expression required, but interpolated cadences that showed the flexibility of her voice but sadly marred the effect. Her mother had reason to be satisfied with her performance, however, insomuch as it was superior to any that had preceded it, and in reply to some complimentary remark of Lady Grace's she said, "It is no credit to her to sing well, for she has taken lessons of Signor Gaspari, who is unrivalled as a master," with a manner implying that no one who had not enjoyed similar advantages could possibly sing at all.

"But I do not intend to lose my favourite song," said Lady Grace. "Now, Miss Trevor."

I ventured to say that it should be accompanied by the harp, having previously assured myself that there was no such instrument in the room.

"Very true, my dear, very true; so it should. It is fortunate that there is a harp here. At least there certainly was before dinner, though I do not see it now. Mrs. Clinford, where is the missing harp? Ah, there it is, hidden by the curtain that hangs half across the conservatory door. We will not have it brought forward; no, you shall sing to me among the flowers, their perfume harmonizes well with the dreamy music ;" and taking my arm, she led me towards the conservatory. Some of the company were probably harpists, for the instrument was ready; so my last hope was gone, and after a short symphony I began to sing.

When I finished Lady Grace was in ecstasies. "It is an exquisite little thing," she said. "I cannot imagine how anything so full of feeling can be German."

66

Why not?" asked Miss Gordon, who had joined us unobserved; "is music of any country?"

"Of the sweet and sunny south, certainly," exclaimed her ladyship. "Is not Italy the native land of art and music, and of all else that is beautiful?"

"What do you say, Miss Trevor?" inquired Miss Gordon, smiling.

"I think that Italian music seems to express the intensity of earthly passion; while what Schlegel says of music generally would be more strictly correct if it were applied only to the music of his own country, that it explores and gives utterance to the deepest feelings of the human soul."

The gentlemen were come into the room, and Lady Grace went off to speak to General Clinford.

Miss Gordon looked after her with her strange smile of mingled pity and contempt, saying, "There goes a favourable specimen of a child of fashion, who is fortunately too amiable to be completely spoiled by the heartless life she has led for the last forty years. Are you fond of music?" she asked abruptly.

"Very," I replied.

"Does it satisfy you, or does it excite in you some vague longings for something unattainable, something of a nature incomprehensible?"

"It often makes me feel as though I could cry," I answered, surprised at her singular manner.

"Indeed! Well, study it as a science, learn it as you would mathematics, and it will cease to have that effect. At least I have found it so, but I have dealt so long with dry, hard facts that I have no sentiment, no imagination left. But do not let me keep you, go back to your companions in the drawing-room."

"I would rather stay here, if you please, they are all strangers to me."

"And they do not take much notice of you? Why care for that? Are they your superiors? Why should you wish them to patronize you? Be independent of their opinion, and show that you are so. Why should you care for persons who have scarcely an original idea?"

Surely she must have read my thoughts, for so I had been arguing with myself for the last half hour.

"You think me strange, and perhaps even rude," she continued, seeing that I did not speak. "I have the character of being singular, and it is probable that I deserve it. us take a turn round the conservatory."

Let

I walked slowly and silently by her side, listening to her caustic remarks. By degrees I began to suspect that part of her peculiarity was assumed, for as she passed insensibly from one subject to another, and spoke of her travels in many countries, her voice grew softer and her manner less abrupt; still in all that she said there was a chilling want of enthusiasm; her dislike of anything was shown by grave, uncompromising censure, and her admiration by calm approval.

Some other persons soon after came in to see a rare new flower, of which Mrs. Clinford, who prized things according to their conventional value, was particularly proud, and the evening ended much as it had begun.

CARLA MEREX.

THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN.

PART FIRST.

WHEN a young believer has vouchsafed to him those Divine illuminations which we have now described to you, you may well imagine that the movements of his spiritual life will be greatly quickened thereby, and that he will run in the way of God's commandments—and run even although that burden is still upon his shoulders, notwithstanding that the sense of sin has not been removed from his mind. The alluring visions of heaven, and the alarming revelations of despair, both combine to urge him forward in his Christian course. He is impelled by those apprehensions which God has awakened for a salutary purpose in his mind; and he is strongly drawn by the revelations which have been made to his soul of the glorious kingdom which is to come. For there may be growth in grace, and considerable advancement in the Divine life, without the burden of sin being removed from the conscience, without there being that peace and joy so thoroughly established in the mind which come when the soul casts off the sense of guilt in the full realization of the Saviour's love.

We again, therefore, dear reader, desire to impress it earnestly upon your mind that we are not to infer that God has not commenced a gracious work, nor that that work is not going on, because He has not yet removed from his believing child the remembrance of sin, and because that remembrance is yet felt as a burden.

How then does the soul, the awakened, converted, renewed soul, lose that sense of sin? Not by direct efforts, as we have heretofore shown you. Such efforts, as we have endeavoured to prove, originate in