bears? O! it matters little to the condemned and trembling criminal, who is about to be led out to execution, by what hand the pardon-to which the king's sign-manual is attached-is brought to him. It dispels at once all the terrors of his soul: it bids him live, and not die; and he receives it with un

speakable joy. Such has been my case; nay, I

have received the welcome by which the Lord God has said to me, as the father of his returning prodigal: This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.'

999

66

now

My father heard me in silence: he offered no remark. He sat with his eyes fixed on the ground; but the expression of his countenance was mild yet thoughtful. I secretly raised my heart to God in fervent prayer, both for him and for myself. He was still silent, and he did not rise. My dear father," I continued, "I must say one more word to you on this subject. I must beg you to bear in mind, that I do not speak to you as to another person, You have honoured me with your friendship and your confidence; and as your friend, no less than your son, I confide to you my secret thoughts, I tell you every thing, without a single reserve. I ask not for your opinion of Mr. Whitefield; but I do ask your advice-your unprejudiced judgment-upon what I have told you of myself. You will not, I am sure, refuse me, nor treat my deep anxiety with indifference or lightness, when you come to consider this matter calmly; to weigh its great importance; to search deeply into it, as it is set forth by God Himself in His inspired Word. I ask you, as my own friend and adviser, to do this. I know you will do so, if only for my sake,-for the sake of my present peace, and my eternal welfare-may I add respectfully,-for your own. Think of Arthur's dying words to you; recall the hours, the days, you passed with him. You have not

spoken of them to me; but I can now, from what I know of his state before his departure, form some idea of what must have passed between you at that solemn period. This letter of Mr. Falkland's"(and I took from the drawer of my desk a letter I had received that morning)-"has told me much of what took place during the few weeks previous to my brother's death. I know what his state of mind was: I know with what mingled earnestness and tenderness you appeared to receive everything that he said to you in Mr. Falklaud's presence. O take this letter with you. I should like you to read it, and think over its contents, when alone."

"I will do so, my dear child," he replied; and as he raised his eyes to me, I saw that they were filled with tears. He grasped my hand closely, and taking up his hat and whip, he left me. But in a moment after he came back. "I will come another day," he said, "and look over your house with you.' Then he stood thinking for awhile; but just as he turned away he said: "You are not to suppose, Allan, that your brother, or Falkland, ever went to hear Whitefield preach.'

"I am well aware of that, sir," I answered; "but it was from the testimony of a poor dying man in this parish, who had gone to hear Mr. Whitefield, that they were both led to search the Scriptures as they had never done before, with earnestness, with diligence, and prayer for divine teaching, till they found in its clear depths the one pearl of great price. They learnt more of their own ignorance and deficiencies, and more of the only way of life, beside the bed of that poor dying cottager, than they had ever learnt in the whole course of their lives before. And here let me say, with reference to myself, dear sir, that it is more merely owing to my going to hear that extraordinary young man (for such he is) that I have been brought to my present state of deep

conviction; and, I hope, to more, to a vital conversion to the doctrines and the principles of the truth. I have, since then, made the Word of God my constant study: I have scarcely opened another book; and I have never read, or I should say, searched and studied, that Inspired Volume, without praying from my very heart, that the Holy Spirit might be present with me as my teacher and my guide. It is, I repeat, the message, not the messenger, to which I owe everything. It is the claims of that message, and of Him who sent that message, that I entreat you to consider."

CHAPTER THE THIRD.

LUCY HARINGTON was an orphan, of an old but decayed family her mother had been a German lady, and distinguished by the friendship and confidence of the amiable Princess Caroline of Anspach, to whose court and service she was attached before her marriage with King George II. She had come with her royal mistress to England, and had married, some few years after, a Mr. Harington. She died in giving birth to her only daughter; and the amiable and excellent Queen Caroline had undertaken the charge of the helpless infant. Her education had been conducted with great care and judgment; and she had been appointed, when growing up into womanhood, one of the maids of honour to the Queen. She had one brother, who had been the school and college friend of Allan Temple. Mr. Harington was the intimate friend of Sir Arthur Temple; and, on his death, he left him guardian to

his son and daughter. Thus it was that Temple Pleasance had been, almost from their childhood, the home of Charles Harington; and Lucy, when not in attendance on the Queen, had lived almost exclusively with the Temples, either at their townmansion in Soho-square, or at Temple Pleasance.

The death of Queen Caroline, in 1737, had been the means of removing Lucy Harington from the court. At the time of Allan Temple's first going to reside at Springhurst, Miss Harington was absent from Temple Pleasance, paying a long-promised visit to one of her father's relations in Wiltshire; and her stay was still prolonged. Lady Vernon, with whom she was, had been alarmingly ill; and, from her great age, little hope of her recovery was entertained. But the good old lady did recover; and her youthful relation found herself of such use to her, and was so happy in her society, that she felt it no less a delight than a duty to remain with her till she was quite restored to health.

The morning after the interview just recorded in the diary of Allan Temple, between himself and his father, a letter came from Miss Harington to Allan. It was the first she had written to him after his settling at Springhurst and formally entering upon the charge of that portion of the Church of God which had been there committed to pastoral care. He expected one of her usual letters, a transcript of herself, and filled with her usual sentiments ;her admirable sense, her fine taste, her delicacy of thought and feeling, and her charming affection (for charming it was to him) for himself: but a new spirit breathed in every word. With a grace peculiar to her style and to herself, she spoke of the deep interest she felt in all that she trusted would interest him in his new and awfully responsible position. Without a shade of aught that could be deemed dictation, she spoke of the charge of Paul

to the elders of the Church at Ephesus: "Feed the Church of God which He hath purchased with His own blood." She told him how constantly those most impressive words had been before her when she thought of him, and when she had found herself almost unconsciously realizing his present situation. She had prayed, she told him, till her whole heart seemed subdued with the emotions within her, that their Heavenly Father would pour out His Holy Spirit upon him, and so pour fresh light into his understanding and love into his heart, supplying him daily with renewed life in his spirit, that, as his day was, so his strength might be. As for herself, she added-From that time, she could only think of herself as one who was the wife of a minister of Christ: she could not help identifying herself with him-her interests with his interestsher duties with his duties,-her cares with his cares. Yet her whole spirit shrunk within her whenever she thought of herself as called to be his helpmate in so arduous and so awful a position. She felt how weak, how wretchedly weak and sinful she was; utterly unworthy to be called to so high an honour, as that of the wife and companion of a minister of the sanctuary of the living God! But she trusted they should be made by His grace, both one in Christ (the only enduring bond of that union to which she looked forward with him); and she believed she would not doubt-but that His grace was sufficient for them both. Long before he had read thus far, the letter had trembled in his hands and was literally bathed in his tears, the sweetest tears he had ever shed. He had read the letter again and again; he had turned it to see if the direction was to him; he had looked intently at the signature, to see if it were really her name in her well-known handwriting. "Surely, surely," he said to himself," my eyes have deceived me; this cannot

how