ourable man, and in good circumstances, and as his son also bore a very good name, I thought Bessy might do worse, and I would not interfere in the affair. But Mr. Rickets was a declared opposer of Mr. Johnson's party; and therefore, though I could not be induced to take any steps which might preclude the meetings between these two young people, yet Mr. Johnson so worked on Mrs. Penson, that she took care to break off the acquaintance, and would never suffer her daughter to go anywhere without her, but to Mrs. Seymour's.

While things were in this state, it was brought to my knowledge that Roger, who was an apprentice, had assisted to get my son's clothes out of the house, and had committed one or two other offences against strict honesty, of such a nature as would have entitled him to a severe punishment, that is, if the law had had its

course.

When I found these things out, I was exceedingly angry, and was determined to bring the boy to trial: not that I had any wish or expectation of seeing him hanged, but I really did hope that he would be made to feel; and was about to take measures to this effect, when Mr. Johnson and the ladies all attacked me, Mrs. Seymour making the first assault. She began by stating that the poor boy was an orphan, wholly dependent on me; that he had been four years in my family; that his prospects were ruined for ever if I made the affair public; that public punishments had lately been found to promote the increase of crime; that severity led to deceit ; that man, in the present condition of society, could only be governed by reason; that the present state of the march of intellect would no longer admit of those arbitrary regulations by which kingdoms in a more savage state were kept in order; and that, if I not only would forgive the boy, but allow him a little pocketmoney, and a few more indulgences, she would answer for his future good conduct, as she had much influence over him; he being the first cousin of her footman Samuel, the young man who had been my first patient in the family.

When Mrs. Seymour ceased to plead, Mr. Johnson, my wife, and daughter, were all ready to second her arguments: and the end of this was, that Roger was called in, told that he was to be forgiven, admonished to do better in future, and informed that he was to have

sixpence a week for pocket-money, that he might not be driven to dishonesty for want of a penny. And this matter being settled agreeably, as Mrs. Seymour said, to my own liberal principles, Roger was dismissed to his own quarter of the house, to chuckle at the folly of his master, and to enjoy the contemplation of the agreeable reward he was to receive for his various delinquencies. Thus I was persuaded to go on from one folly to another; though by this time I more than half suspected that the new lights of which I had so long boasted were little better than so many Will-o'-the-wisps, which would lead all who followed them into bogs and quagmires, from which they would never help any to extricate themselves.

But I have scarcely patience to proceed narrating the wretched and low-lived perplexities in which my weakness and folly involved my unhappy family. It was not three months after the restoration of Roger to favour, that Bessy became of age; and received into her possession a hundred pounds, which had been left her by a distant relation of her mother's. And what was the step she took on finding herself mistress of this hundred pounds I am ashamed to say; yet truth compels me to say.-On my giving her some slight offence, she took an opportunity to run away; and the person she chose for the companion of her flight was the smart footman of Mrs. Seymourthe cousin of Roger; and no doubt this affair had not been helped forward a little by the boy whom I had so weakly pardoned.

Here was an unlooked-for blow; yet, when the thing was past, my wife recollected a thousand little incidents, which, had not her mind been turned to other matters, might have awakened her suspicions, and perhaps prevented the evil.

The naughty girl had managed matters so artfully, that she could not be traced till after she had been married some weeks. She was then discovered in a mean lodging, in a large manufacturing town at some distance from our village. She had wounded my pride too deeply to allow me to forgive her. I refused to see her; and I did right: and she would have had nothing to complain of had I from the first acted consistently with her but I had brought her up without respect either for God or man; I had filled her mind with false notions of the Deity, and of herself; I had accustomed her to suppose that the blind obedience which parents require from chil

dren, in infancy, was a thing at once absurd and out of date; that the Almighty was weakly merciful; that no one man had a right to control another in matters which did not immediately concern himself; and that it was a godlike attribute to forgive offences, and to heap kindness on the offender, without even exacting a change of feelings or of habits in that offender. I had also taught her that it was cruel to exercise any thing like discipline over a faithless wife, or an undutiful son or daughter, so long as any hopes remained of reclaiming such a one by tenderness; and although I had not forgiven my son, she had not entertained the least doubt that I should be ready to do so the moment he chose to claim my pardon. She was, therefore, quite astonished when I gave her notice that I would not see her if she offered to come to our village; and equally so when she was informed, through Mrs. Seymour, that I would allow her twenty pounds a year, but only on condition that neither she nor her husband ever appeared before me, or was seen in the parish.

My mind, which had been gradually opening to the errors-not to say the wickedness-of my past life, was at this time in a degree of trouble which I cannot describe. I was made to see my sins in an awful light by their consequences-the ruin of my children-my unhappy children. I saw, too, that the present misery of my wife was owing to my conceited folly. Had I admitted her to my friendship and confidence when we first married, from how many follies and mistakes might I have preserved her!

In all these sad reflections, but one consoling thought remained; and that was, my little Sarah, now thirteen years of age, was as yet uninjured-she had been brought up in innocence and simplicity-and she might yet be a comfort and honour to her unhappy parents.

Though I had not followed William when he ran away, I had used every means, and employed every friend I had, to trace the steps of Bessy; but, as I before said, did not find her till it was too late, and till she had been actually married several days. I did not then see her; but, having ascertained her situation, I came home immediately; and there, being seized with a violent fever, was confined by illness so long, and recovered so slowly, that I was compelled to take an assistant for a term of years.

Thus was a considerable part of my gains cut off; and I was ashamed to look my father and mother, or my brother, in the face; neither could I contemplate their two fine and hopeful sons without a degree of anguish which it is not in my power to depict: and at one time, my sufferings both of body and mind were so acute that I became delirious; and in my delirium called vehe mently for my parents and my brother.

They were immediately sent for; and were in the more haste to come, as I had before refused to see them; under the idea that they would triumph over me in my misfortunes. 1 knew them immediately, and begged my parents' pardon for all my undutiful conduct; and, stretching out my arms to Robert, I said, "O that I had cultivated your friendship!-that I had not despised my brother!-that I had not counted myself among the wise ones of the earth!-that I had not believed the present generation to be wiser than all which had gone before!-that I had not vainly supposed that new light could be thrown on those eternal truths which were taught by inspiration, ere yet our fathers or our fathers' fathers had seen the light of day!" I then wandered from the subject; and raved about my children, and called them my lost and ruined ones; neither could I be persuaded, for a while, but that they were both dead.

In this wretched and bewildered state I remained till the fever left me; and, as soon as it was possible, I was removed to the Woodhouse; where the best chamber in the house was allotted for my use; and my little Sarah was appointed to be my nurse, under the direction of my mother and sister-in-law; my wife being obliged to remain at home, to direct, as well as lay in her power, the new assistant in the management of the business. Poor woman! what must have been her sufferings at that time! being parted from all her children, and groaning, as she did, under the same blows which had reduced me almost to the gates of death.

But, as I was saying, my little Sarah was my constant attendant at that time; and I very well remember a conversation which I had with this child, one Sunday evening, when most of the family were at church, which made a deep and lasting impression on my mind. She began by saying, "Father, shall I read to you? I have here the Bible, and the Pilgrim's Progress ;" and she mentioned one or two more books

"Dear child," I answered, "I cannot attend to reading: I can think of nothing but of your miserable brother and sister."

The tears came into her eyes, and she answered, "Cannot any thing be done for them, father?"

"Nothing! nothing!" I answered: "they are both ruined, and ruined by me, because I did not restrain them when they were children."

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Something might yet be done for them, father," she answered: "we might pray for them; and if we pray in our Lord Jesus Christ's name, and for his sake, our heavenly Father will hear us.'

I am not fit to pray, Sarah," I said.

"Then, father, you might ask our Saviour to intercede for you," she replied.

This was a new idea to me; and I asked her what she

meant.

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"Our Saviour is man as well as God, you know, father," she answered; and, as mediator, and our friend and brother, he has prayed the Father for us: and his continued intercessions will be heard."

"How do you know this, Sarah?" I asked.

She immediately showed me 1 Tim. ii. 5-" For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus ;" and 1 John ii. 1-"We have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous."

I held the book in my hand, and was lost in meditation; while my little girl, looking upon me with innocent glee, said, "Is it not so, father? have not we got a Friend to pray for us who will do better than we can? My aunt often tells me, when I do not feel in a state of mind to pray, to go into my room, and ask my dear Saviour to pray for me; and it makes me very happy when I do

80."

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"Happy!" I repeated; are you ever unhappy, Sarah ?"

"Sometimes," she replied," when I cannot do wellwhen I cannot love God; and that often happens. My heart is very wicked."

I asked her what she meant by her heart being wicked -a question which seemed to surprise her; and she replied," All our hearts are wicked; are they not, father?" I asked her how she knew that.

On which, she showed me Jer. xvii. 9-" The heart