the house unobserved, and determined to spend the night at the end of the garden by the river, without a bonnet or shawl, hoping that the damp chills of the night air might give her such a violent cold, that she should die, and thus quickly rejoin her mother. As the attention of every one in the house was bestowed on her sister, Bessie was not missed, and she spent the night undisturbed, walking up and down the garden by the river's side, in the dark and the cold, giving full vent to her grief in bitter lamentations, calling in vain to her mother to return; but no voice answered her, and no other sound disturbed the stillness of the night, save the murmuring of the waters as they flowed past her. At length morning dawned, the sun rose, and the glad earth reflected his bright beams-but no ray of comfort cheered this lonely child.

Whilst her sad heart was thus bursting in all the wild desolation of grief, the violence of which was only varied by deeper musings of anguish, as in mental vision she was still gazing on that loved face over which death had cast its stern and pallid shade, some notes of distant music fell upon her ear, as the sounds floated on the breeze, softened by the water over which they passed, they soothed her troubled spirit, and calmed her excited feelings. She listened eagerly to catch every note, and when

and

they had passed, and she heard them no more, she was so much quieted that she wandered back to the house. The music had proceeded from a pleasure party on the river. Perhaps young and thoughtless hearts were enjoying the gladsome beams of the rising sun and the freshness of the morning breeze, which, combined with the strains above alluded to, may have lulled into forgetfulness every anticipation of a cloud to obscure, or storm to disturb, the unruffled calm that reigned around.

What different scenes are often presented to us in the moving pictures of life; each scene rendered more vivid by being contrasted with another. In that before us we have, on the one hand, the children of mirth, joyous as the morning beams that played around them; and on the other, standing in mournful shade, a bereft orphan, alone in the wide world, now made to her a dreary waste and desolate void. If asked "With which of these will you take your place?" nature would reply, "In that happy skiff, with sweet music and joyous spirits." But pause,— consider, that lone one has an eye fixed on her, an invisible hand that is leading her through those avenues of gloom and darkness into the pastures of His grace. "Blessed are ye that weep now ; for ye shall laugh. Woe unto you that laugh now; for ye

shall mourn and weep."

Chapter Serand.

"Rejoice sweet orphan-though to you
The world have lost its gaudy hue,
And youth's wild hopes, and dizzy mirth,
Can never be your lot on earth-
A calmer, purer light is shed

Along the lonely path you tread.
The kindred dead shall hover near,
And whisper in the spirit's ear,
And ease the load, and still the strife,
And smooth the ruggedness of life.”

WHEN Sarah A

HANKINSON.

was sufficiently recovered to mingle again in the family, she undertook the whole control and education of her younger sister; Dr. Doyle, who was their guardian, acted like a father to them, and viewed Bessie as his particular charge, expecting she would soon become the inmate of a convent under his direction. Her earthly friends

As might have been expected, she was laid up with a severe cold, and confined to her bed for some time. Then it was she felt the full extent of her loss, as she tossed about upon her bed, hour after hour passing heavily away, without either father, mother, or sister, to break their silence; she had only the recollection of happy days, now gone for ever! And when night drew its dark curtain around her, sleep brought no relief, for in her dreams were mingled scenes of past joyous times; and she would awake with anguish, as she realized her lonely situation.

"Night is the time to weep:

To wet with unseen tears

Those graves of memory, where sleep

The joys of other years.

Hopes that were angels in their birth,

But perished young, like things of earth."

MONTGOMERY.

precept upon us? Do they think that Word condemns them ?"

A circumstance occurred shortly after her mother's death which helped to confirm the doubts which had now taken possession of her mind. We will quote her own words, from a letter which she wrote to a Roman Catholic friend, a few years afterwards :

"A friend with whose family I was staying for awhile in Dublin, was suddenly attacked with illness. I hardly ever left him for nine days and nights, and on the tenth he died. For the first few days after the commencement of his illness there were hopes of his recovery, and he often spoke with pleasure of the future, for all was bright before him. But oh! the struggle, the agony of soul he felt when hope could flatter him no longer. I only, of all those concerned, knew the terrors that assailed him; and it was well that I alone should know, for his physicians had commanded perfect quiet, and he himself desired. that a priest should not be sent for. During health, moral excellence in his professional character, and amiability in his private life, inspired him with confidence towards God; but when driven to contemplate aright the being summoned into His immediate presence, his heart condemned him, and he cast off every hope. His works had never been the works