he was attached, and ignorant of the place where he was reported to have received his wound. "Good lady," she replied, "I could not rest, night or day, thinking about him. My poor boy! What he suffers in his body is, no doubt, cause of great affliction to me; but what is that, compared with the danger of his soul? O the eternity, the long eternity that's before him!" Here, she sobbed aloud. "He was a good child," she continued, "and often read the Bible to me of a night, when he came home from the mountain; but I dare not say he was turned to God. Yet, I have seen the tears in his little eyes, too, dear child, when I have taken him on my knee, and spoken to him of the Saviour of sinners, and how he loved little children, and said; Suffer them to come unto me, and forbid them not.' But, lady, it is an awful thing to die, when one has not a good hope through grace,' that all will be well for ever. O my poor boy, my poor boy!" Finally, however, we diverted her from her purpose. "It was very improbable," we told her, "that she would find him, and perhaps she herself might be unable to vain!' His eye is over them, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against their peace. Remember that inimitable passage of Luther's hymn : "Act but the infant's gentle part, Repeat these lines, dear Alphonzo, fre quently to yourself, and supplicate the aid of the Holy Spirit to apply them to your heart. Through them, behold the wonderful love of that Redeemer, who, though he was rich, yet for our sakes became poor, that we through his poverty might be rich.' Meditate on his gracious condescension. Think of his kind invitation: Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, * We have adopted Mr. Browne's translation of this beautiful hymn, which we cannot too strongly recommend to the perusal of our readers. He does not, and I will give you rest.' indeed, promise that every thing shall glide smoothly with us in our journey through life; but he encourages us notwithstanding: 'Be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.' Emily does not deny that she will rejoice when the season approaches, which will restore you to her retreats; but, in the mean time, she would wish you not to mourn too deeply over what is irremediable. To prove to you, however, that I have not been altogether unmindful of you, I send you a few lines, in which I have attempted to clothe the feelings of a pensive hour in the garb of poetry. I need not crave your compassion towards them-you know too well, that all Emily does, requires forgiveness and pity. LE SOUVENIR. On the night we parted last, Did the wind of winter blow O'er the valley fleeced with snow? VOL. II. C Or, on Balmè's haughty crest Mounting to her peaceful noon, Did the highest cloudlet stray. Distant as the eye could reach, "Thou art going far, and where Shun, O shun, the charmer's wile Ruin lurks beneath her smile: Keep thy heart when near her seat: -O, may all a Saviour's power And if heaven ordain it so, While thy thoughts-thy wishes, soar I must now conclude this voluminous epistle, lest I exhaust your patience. You know I often try it; but let me experience you still as easy to be pacified as hitherto. The united regards of the glen 'accompany this, with the tender remembrances of your unworthy EMILY DU B. ALPHONZO TO EMILY. Paris, Sept. 15th. THE days roll heavily onward-different indeed in their tenour from those which I |