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had borne away the pride of the village wherein she dwelt ; but alas ! she proved a bad helpmate, slovenly and vain, bigotted and superstitious; and he found that beauty was no real substitute for other qualities, and that he had made a great mistake. They had several children, but she never troubled herself to correct or teach them, and thus the miserable home, the poverty, filth and wretchedness that surrounded him, were one active cause of his becoming a willing Whiteboy. But now that he saw all things in a different light, he thought upon his wife and children with intense anxiety; Cathleen was not improved; the cabin was as miserable, and the young ones as ragged as formerly. And when poor Dennis would often try to give some order and regularity to the comfortless abode, she would taunt him with the fine notions he had learnt in prison.

“Yes Cathleen,” he said, “I did get fine notions in prison sure enough ; notions which have made a man of me, and a happy man too.” She looked at him with curiosity,—"Shall I tell you more p” he added, regarding her with deep affection.

“ Dennis,” she said, “ you frighten me. What do you mean?"

" That I have learnt to read in this book;" he said, taking his Bible from his pocket, " and have found a cure for all my diseases, a remedy for all my complaints, a cordial for my spirits, an encourager when I do right, a reprover when I am wrong."

“What book is it?" she interrupted him, “not the-thebook-Father Murphy said we should never read—the Bible ?" He was silent. “ Is it the Bible, Dennis?”

“ It is, Cathleen," he replied, “it is the Bible-God's own blessed book, the best gift he ever bestowed on man."

“ And you, Dennis," she cried, with flashing eye, "you, the noted Whiteboy, turned heretic! Oh! that I have lived to see this day!" And then, as if possessed by the spirit of a demon, she gave vent to all the violence that her naturally hasty temper impelled by bigotry could display. The scene was fearful; the children fled away, the neighbours came to the cabin : all joined the infuriated wife, and for a time the ife of Dennis appeared in jeopardy. But he who set apart Saul of Tarsus, and preserved him from his murderers, watched over this his chosen one. He had a great and a gracious work for him to perform, he shielded his head in the hour of danger, and put

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words in his mouth, such as the superstitious throng could neither gainsay or resist.

But in the midst of the uproar his Bible, his precious book, fell on the ground, his wife saw it, and before he could stoop to recover it, she had snatched it up, ran with it out of the cabin, and threw it into a fire that was burning bright in another dwelling. A yell of delight accompanied this feat, and when Dennis, roused by the noise, ascertained the cause, then indeed the tears flowed down his manly cheeks, and standing aloof from the crowd who were intoxicated with joy, he cried out in the words of his Redeemer, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!"

(To be concluded next Month.)

ANNA, THE ELDER SISTER.

(Continued from page 30.]

CHAPTER II.

Anna's reflections on reviewing her profession of religion - further extracts from her journal-her brother and sister Sarah leave her for England -Letter to her sister Sarah-Anna's efforts blessed to the conversion of Sarah.

The ensuing extracts from Anna's Journal show that she was anxious to adorn her public profession.

Sept. 5, 1824.—Six months from to-day I sat down at the Lord's table for the first time, my mother and brother with me. Oh, who can tell what a month or a week shall bring to pass. Now she is an inhabitant of heaven surrounding the throne, and holding high and holy communion with God her Saviour, without a veil between; and between him and me the mighty ocean rolls; and who can tell that we shall ever see one another's faces again? It behoves me to ask myself on this day what improvement I have made of all these afflictions ;-how I have glorified God, and promoted his cause in the world—how I have kept the solemn vows which six months ago I made to be the Lord's. March 4, 1825.--Preparatory lecture.

Mr. G. preached. This anniversary recalls to my mind a thousand varied emotions; when I take a retrospect of the past year, and remember how I have departed from my solemn engagements, shame and confusion of face overwhelm me. Subject. The duty of prayer. Oh who could but feel guilty when thus solemnly arraigned before the heart-searching and rein-trying God.

March 6, 1825.-Mr. G's. sermon from Rev. iii. 11. “I would thou wert either cold or hot." The marks of lukewarmness are-neglect of secret devotion, falling into errors, being displeased with the ardour of others, punctilious regard to externals, or entire indifference to them, neglecting to converse about religion. The ordinance was administered, and three came forward and made a public profession of their faith in Christ. And could any one behold with indifference that wonderful display of love which was stronger than death ; which could tamely submit to injuries and to insults, the most abusive ever offered to man? O Supreme Power above, rouse my soul from such a state of torpor, make me a valiant soldier of the cross; never permit me to disgrace the banner under which I am enlisted! I think I can say, I find my

duties more interesting, and that I experience more Christian delight than ever, in following whither my Saviour would lead me. But why are not my convictions of duty more strongly impressed on my mind? Why do I need so often to recall the arguments which determine me to live to myself no longer ? Oh that I could always be in that frame of mind which a near converse with God creates. But how often does my mourning soul exclaim, "I go forward, but cannot find Him, backwards, but perceive Him not !" Lord, come and make me entirely thine receive the renewed dedication of myself, and all to Theemould me in thy glorious image, and enable me to be useful to poor perishing men!

This constant panting of her soul after God, so beautifully expressed in the above extract, was eminently satisfied. All who knew her, testify that her walk and conversation were always in conformity to the Gospel ; it was evident to all that the life which she lived, she lived by “the faith of the Son of God.” According to his usual plan of procedure, God produced this result by bringing her into the furnace of affliction. It is thus our gracious Father deals with those whom he loves." Every

branch that beareth fruit he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit."

6. These inward trials I employ
From self and pride to set thee free,
And break thy schemes of earthly joy,

That thou may'st seek thy all in me.” Scarcely had Anna recovered from the shock of her recent bereavement, when another severe trial came upon her. Experiencing all that loneliness which the orphan heart alone can conceive, her affections were in consequence the more closely entwined round those precious treasures left to her care. On this tender point, the affliction was laid. It was evident that the education of the whole family was too much for her young and delicate frame, and in order to lighten her labors and anxieties, it was judged proper to send her brother and youngest sister Sarah to England, to be educated among their relatives there. But oh, what a parting was this! How could such hearts be severed! They were bound to each other, they were one in affection ; so lately separated from their mother, were they now to be divided from one another ?

The hearts of those who were to go to a home among strangers, were almost broken. The smiling eye of their mother so lately closed in death, her gentle voice so lately hushed in the tomb—was dear Anna's loving eye also to be withdrawn; were they to hear her voice no more ? Poor Sarah, her sister, whose heart seemed bound up in her's, could not understand why Anna should allow them to go, and almost suspected that she was unkind. What a trial to the susceptible elder sister! But her trust was in the orphan’s God, the Father of the fatherless: she strove to assume an air of cheerfulness for the sake of her sister, but the struggle was severe. The parting at last took place, and soon the ocean separated these loving hearts.

The following is a touching letter which Anna wrote for her sister to read when on the mighty deep:

Boston, June 7, 1825. Very dear sister Sarah,--Our separation for the first time for so long a space must of course create sensations of a peculiar kind. Melancholy, indeed, were they at first to me-almost verging on despondency; but I am glad to be able to say I have succeeded in calming those feelings which would have proved so inimical to our happiness; and not a little credit is due to yourself also for striving so hard against the natural flow of your feelings. But although, my dearest sister, I do not trust myself to speak much on the subject, yet I can tell you now how deeply I feel upon it, and how the thought of it at times almost overwhelms me. Were it not that the way is perfectly clear, and that everything seems to have been wisely appointed relative to your removal, I never could think of it. God has in infinite mercy, made the path of duty so plain, that we cannot mistake : 'tis as if a voice from Heaven had said “ This is the way, walk ye in it."

This letter, my dearest sister, I intend as a parting memorial, and if at any time you should ever feel disposed to question the sincerity of my love, or strength of my affection, recur to this: if at any time you should wish to have a criterion to judge of your sister's principles, return to this.

The circumstance of your being an orphan, bereaved of those two beings whose sole charge it was to watch and guard you and your sisters, renders our separation on some accounts doubly painful, and on others again, it takes off more than half the bitterness, for you are going among those who will act a mother's part towards you as much as possible. They will from this time be your guardians. Of course as such they demand all that love and obedience which you can give, especially when you consider this circumstance,—that your dearest father and mother were the only two beings who ever possessed any right over you. When your dearest father died, he invested all his right solely in our mother, and when she also took her flight to the realms of glory, she deposited her right with your grandfather, uncles J. and B. Therefore, setting aside the claims of age, relationship, uniform kindness and affection, they have a right over your every

action;

and
may

God in infinite mercy grant that we may never so far forget the precepts of his word, as to withhold for one moment that respect, attention, and affection, which are amply due to them.

You will probably live with aunt B., who may well be termed one of the excellent of the earth, and in her and your

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