every group of figures, bearing reversed sentences, which could not be read by the naked eye, but when reflected in the mirrors, they proved to be warning texts from Scripture. Thus, whichever way she looked, there were inscriptions in large characters to this effect: "Commune with thine own heart in thy chamber, and be still"-"Believe in the Lord Jesus," &c. The young lady was first surprised, then displeased, then thoughtful, and ended in being converted. I will close my letter here. Ever yours. LETTER XIII. MY DEAR MARY, I have lately witnessed a scene, which I may well describe to you in connexion with the subject of my last letter. The daughter of one of my earliest friends, has lately received her summons to quit the fleeting things of time, and embark on the shoreless ocean of eternity. Five years ago, this young lady publicly professed religion, and took upon her the emphatic name and privileges of the Christian. She had been educated among thoughtless, but amiable people, and received her first impressions of the importance of Christianity, from a missionary who accidentally passed through her neighbourhood. From this time Agnes Somerton, for that was her name, avowed a determination to persist in her researches after divine truth, until her mind received full conviction. Her mother was one of those Christians, who had taken up the profession, without any high idea of its re quisitions. She was by nature good and amiable, so that her deficiencies in vital piety were not visible to superficial observers. She expressed pleasure at her daughter's convictions, but still was terribly afraid that she might become a Presbyterian, alias a fanatic. "That sect are so unreasonably strict," said she, "and deny their members so many innocent amusements, that really I find it hard to tolerate them. Some of my near connexions have joined it, and I can assure you they are unpleasant inmates, they have such a cavilling spirit. They can't bear cards, although we never play for money; they won't attend the theatre, or dancing assemblies; and they keep the Sabbath so strangely, that it is any thing but a day of rest, with their Sunday Schools and their prayer meetings. Now, for my part, I think it irreverent to be always bringing religion forward: it is a sacred thing, and ought to be kept apart from the ordinary affairs of life." You may be sure I did not omit the faithful expression of my own principles, on this occasion. I alleged that the Presbyterians were in nothing more strict than evangelical Episcopalians. That religion was the healing branch which should be thrown into all the bitter fountains of human evil. That the Sabbath was a holy day, and ought to be kept sacred. I inquired if she understood the commandment as enjoining any particular portion of that day to be consecrated, while the rest was given over to secular affairs? I urged, that to the truly pious, the whole Sabbath was a precious season of rest to the overtoiled spirit. That the privilege of spending that day in holy thoughts and devout exercises, was immeasurably dear to the true disciple of the Lord Jesus. I asked my friend- -"Would you have tired of the Saviour, had it been your lot to have lived with him in the flesh; to have seen and heard him as his disciples K -as Mary and Martha did?" She readily answered, that she certainly should not have wearied of his actual presence. I replied, "Neither should we become tired of holding communion with him by faith, at his own appointed season. If we spend the Sabbath with him, he will spend the rest of the week with us; but if we only give him an hour or two of his own day, we have no right to expect his abiding presence during our season of worldly employment." As for balls and plays, I observed that they were not so much prohibited by any rules of the church, as that people who were capable of appreciating the joys of religion, wanted no fictitious aid to promote cheerfulness. That they rejected spontaneously, and of free choice, those pleasures which took away their thoughts from holy things. "As for all that," said my friend, "I am free to say, that I have done very well without it, and wish to continue as I am. I have heard, indeed, that some Episcopalian ministers are becoming strict in these matters, but I am glad I don't belong to any of their churches. Our pastor is an excellent man, and nobody ever heard him object to an innocent game at cards, or balls and plays. He says the theatre is very improving to the manners and understanding, besides affording the purest standard for pronunciation and grammar." To all this, I vainly attempted to apply common sense, and even common piety; but I was pleased to find that Agnes listened approvingly, and when we parted, asked me to correspond with her on the subject of her new convictions. To this I readily agreed; but after replying to three or four of my letters, in the free, fluent language of the heart, she suddenly discontinued her communications. I was told that her mother prohibited our correspondence, on the plea that I was teaching Agnes a religion so different from her own, that she should have no pleasure in her daughter's conversion. I sighed at this intelligence, and continued to pray fervently, that both mother and daugh, ter might be guided in the right way. A fortnight ago, I heard that Agnes had been in a gradual decline, which had been overlooked by her friends, until the disease had triumphed over her native strength of constitution. I hastened to the house, and found the family in that state of overpowering terror and affliction, which sufficiently proves the want of spiritual strength to sustain the evils of life. Prosperity had kept off serious thoughts, till their minds had become unable to bear them. The mother wrung her hands in agony, and exclaimed, "Oh, my Agnes!-Tell me, do you think her in danger?" Alas, my first view of the transparent skin, the hectic glow; the first sound of the sepulchral voice; the tightened breath, which plainly indicated decay in the seat of respiration,-all spoke too plainly to allow me to conceal the truth for a moment. "You must lose your child for the present, but you will be reunited at no distant period, never to endure separation again," was my reply to the distracted mother. "Oh!" said she, "I cannot live without her: what shall I have to sweeten life when she is gone?" Resignation," replied I, "will make your grief endurable. Have you not received great and continued good from your God, and can you not now submit to whatever evil he may choose to send you?" "Oh no, no!" replied she, "I have not learnt to submit to evil: my religion has taught me to be thankful for benefits, but that was when I thought they would never be withdrawn. I am sure I have never missed a night, for twenty years, returning thanks in the very same words for all my blessings, and I have often done that, when my heart was very full of cares and fears about some of my worldly affairs, but still I offered up thanks, because 66 I thought such an expression of gratitude would save my blessings from being taken away." "God loves a grateful heart," said I, "but I fear your thanksgiving was not of the right sort to be acceptable," "Why not?" said she quickly, "when my thanks were offered up in the prescribed language of the church to which I belong? Nobody can accuse me of having neglected any of its observances, and poor Agnes has been still more strict. Often have I known her to come home from a ball or play, fatigued to death, and yet she would not go to sleep until somebody had read to her a chapter in the Bible, and a form of prayer. She has been exemplary in performing her religious duties, I assure you; but her nerves are affected, poor child, and she talks in the most distressing manner about her sins. I tell her, that I am the best judge of her conduct, and I have never known her to commit any sins.* To be sure, there is original sin, which every one partakes of, but we are given to understand that the blood of Jesus washes away that stain." I will not detain you longer with the detail of these melancholy errors, but will proceed to describe the situation of the poor young woman herself. She pressed my hand silently, when I took a seat beside her; her countenance underwent a sad variety of changeful expressions, in which I read plainly all the agonies of retrospection. At length she spoke-"You warned ine faithfully," said she; "I acquit you of having any share in my ruin." Oh, what must have been her feelings at that moment! "Is your prospect dark?" asked I. "As dark as remorse and fruitless conviction can make it," said she, with a burst of tears. "I awake from a dream of error and delusion, to contemplate the awful cer • Fact, |