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Evangelical Miscellany.

MARCH, 1833.


THE effect of the scenery of this Lake is, when beheld from the water, truly overwhelming. The scenery of the waters, as it may be termed, is soft, still, and silent-the surface calm and uninterrupted, except by the island groups that rise to different heights, and are decked with varieties of coloring. One of them, richly wooded, was chosen as a residence, not, we are told, by him whose mind was eminently happy, but by one who wished to reject the world. The new road to Kenmaze has connected the aquatic system of viewing the lakes into a more secure, and for that reason, perhaps, more agreeable mode, and has, at the same time, unfolded a new series of landscapes. See Fisher's Ireland, Illustrated.


(Continued from page 56.)

I FOLLOWED My parents to town on the first day of the vacation, and there having settled all that was necessary, as it regarded my large inheritance, I persuaded my father to permit me to accompany my elder brother and tutor on a tour, which they were just commencing on the Continent. The Continent, VOL VI. 3rd. SERIES.


fifty years ago, had not even that sprinkling of good of which it now may boast. It was then a scene of unmingled corruption and infidelity, and I may add in a few words which will serve as well as many, that I drank deep of the intoxicating cup which the corruptions of a false religion held out to me, and remained many years in that state of hardness and insensibility, which the baneful potion had inspired. After my brother and tutor had left me, I passed from one scene of dissipation to another, till I had squandered a large portion of my fortune, and till I had utterly deadened every proper feeling of the heart. I contemplated with horror a return to sober domestic life, and probably should have concluded my days in the same scenes of depravity, had not I found it absolutely requisite to return, in order to look into my affairs. My father, too, was at this time in a state of decay, and had expressed himself exceedingly hurt and afflicted at my long protracted absence, for I had been abroad more than twenty years. I accordingly made a desperate effort, and having left all behind me which seemed requisite for the enjoyment of life, I sailed from Calais, and arrived at Dover in the spring of the twenty-first year after I had left England. I was at this time in my fortieth year, but to use a very common, though an extremely expressive term, I had lived too fast, and was old in the very prime and summer of my days. As I passed rapidly from my landing place to my father's house, my reflections were painful in the extreme. Who can think of youth departed-strength exhaustedriches squandered-time destroyed-hopes darkened-affections prostituted—and talents misused, without experiencing an anguish of spirit, in comparison with which the severest bodily pains are as ease and comfort? This I felt, and that with such increasing strength, that, together with the hurry and fatigue of travelling, I was in a state of violent feverish excitement before I reached the end of my journey, and had scarcely met the embraces of my father and mother, (both of whom were living, though the former was, as I said above, in a very feeble state) before I was compelled to take to my bed, where I remained many weeks, enduring extreme suffering, both mental and bodily. I was miserable indeed, and yet I felt that if I could move about, associate with my former

friends, and take some steps to set my disordered affairs to rights, I should be comparatively easy, but I was not to have my own way; I had a better lesson to learn, and the divine purposes of mercy were to be effected through much suffering.

I was not permitted, during my fever, to see any of my old friends, excepting my father and mother, lest I should be too much affected, nor was it till long afterwards that I learnt, that my foster sister had been turned from the door of my chamber whilst I lay at the worst, although she had supplicated permission to enter, with floods of tears. I, however, recovered partially, after a length of time, and was then ordered to Bath, where my father had had a house for some seasons. When removed to this place, together with the rest of the family, a second attack of fever reduced me almost to the door of death, leaving me in such a state of incapacity for exertion, that I was compelled to put my affairs into the hands of my father's man of business, who after some time, and much labor, informed me that, when all my debts were paid I should have possession of eight thousand pounds, being only a trifle compared with what I had squandered ;—a fortune, diminished as it was, greatly superior to what I had once expected, added to this I had some expectations, however small, from my father, who had hitherto enjoyed my mother's fortune. At the period when this statement was made to me, I had so little idea of recovering my health, that I felt very little interested in it, and merely remarked, that I would give half of it for the piece of ground on my father's estate, which included the dingle, where was the cottage in which I had been reared, the orchard and the summer house. "They will be yours, Edmund," said my father, who was present when I made this remark, "I have so arranged things with your brother, that they shall be yours at my death," and then the old gentleman added with much tenderness of manner, “Would to God, my son, in giving you the cottage and the fields where you spent your infancy, I could restore to you the health and peace you have lost."

"You might add the innocence, dear father," I said, as I threw myself into the arms of the old gentleman, "but alas! when innocence and simplicity are gone, in what way can they

be restored?

They are as water spilt upon the ground, which

none can gather up.'

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My father was much affected by the warmth and pathos of my manner. Edmund," he said, "I have taken much blame to myself on your account. I did not do my duty to you in your childhood. I did not cultivate your affections. Had I so done, I should have had a stronger hold upon you in your manhood; but may God forgive this, among a thousand other grievous offences of which I have been guilty, for the sake of Him whose merits are infinite, and therefore, more than adequate to supply all that is needful to those who have been brought to trust in him.”

My father died soon after this, and my step-mother and sisters having settled themselves in Bath, I returned with my elder brother, who was on the point of marriage with a very excellent and pious widow lady, in the neighbourhood of my paternal mansion, where, being still in so weak a state that I could only move to any distance in a carriage, I one day accompanied my brother, who was extremely kind to me, to my little estate, and as we went along my brother pressed me to take up my abode for the remainder of my life, either under his roof or in his immediate neighbourhood. We then planned the erection of a small house on the site of the old mansion in which I felt that I should like to finish my days; and, leaning on my brother's 's arm, we traced the old wall of the garden, then enclosing an orchard of golden pippins and other valuable fruit trees at the sight of the deserted summer-house, the tears gushed unbidden to my eyes. "Oh! hours of youth and comparative innocence," I exclaimed, can the hopes I then indulged be never more renewed?" "No," replied my brother, "but better hopes may and will arise in your heart, my Edmund ;" and he then exhibited so much of the true christian in the consolations which he administered to me, that I looked upon him with astonishment, not having yet discovered how far the society of the pious lady whom he was about to marry, had been blessed to his soul. I was not able to say much to him; I longed to sce the interior of the summer house, and to be left there to my own reflections for a short time. I made my wishes known to

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him ;
he sent the servant to the cottage for the key, and the
door being unlocked, I was left a short interval to myself.

Who amongst my readers has suddenly found himself, after
the lapse of years, in a place familiar to his youth, where
every inanimate object standing where it did, seems as it
were to annihilate the intervening time, and to bring together
two periods of his life removed by many revolving years.
Cold indeed, and dead to every feeling, must that heart be,
which even under the most agreeable circumstances, can find
the past and present thus associated, without some experience
of pain. How dreadful then is a sudden recurrence to the
scenes of early life, to a mind tortured by remorse. Oh! what
did I suffer when standing in the centre of that small chamber;
I beheld all my former beloved possessions duly arranged in
their places, and looking as if I had left them but the day
before. What a proof was this of the strict and simple fide-
lity of the keepers of my little treasures !

Oh my God! what did I suffer at that moment!--but it was all right--it was all as it should be. My afflictions were blessed--they brought me to my knees--I threw myself with my face upon the ground, and cried, Lord have mercy upon me the most miserable of sinners. Nor had I ceased to cry when the gentle creaking of the door surprised me; and I arose, all bathed in tears.

It was Sally who had opened the door--that same gentle Sally who had so often played with me around this place.-~ She was no longer what I remembered her, a pleasant playful child; yet I could trace the same beloved features, the unaltered, mild, and harmless expression; but she came forward tremblingly, from the belief perhaps that when she had sought me during my illness, it had been by my directions that she had been harshly repulsed. "Sally," I said, "Is it Sally?" "Yes, master Edmund," she replied, advancing, with a fresh burst of tears.

"I am come again, dear Sally," I added, “ I am come to live and die with you. I have been a grievous offender against the laws of God and man. I have long neglected all that your dear mother taught me, but I feel that my heavenly Father is drawing me back, and I desire to be permitted to conclude my

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