"I wish, my dear Lucy, none of us had more cause than yourself to indulge in such regrets, which I believe, to some extent at least, ought to be universal among Christians, though there are a few respecting whom we must lament that they talk so much about religion, as to violate its spirit. Because it is happily their own favourite subject, they force it upon others at all times and seasons, in which they show no regard to their neighbours' rights or feelings; a mode of conduct by which injudicious Christians unnecessarily strengthen the natural prejudices of the heart against religion. Occasional and solemn appeals to the consciences of our acquaintance, in private interviews or by letter, united with constant endeavours in all our intercourse with them to promote their enjoyment, as far as our principles will allow, is the best, and generally, I believe, the only successful mode of recommending religion to their attention. In the families of some truly sincere and zealous Christians, where it is presented in the ascetic and repulsive form we have been speaking of; where the parents, not considering it necessary to study the tastes of their children in innocent pursuits, resolve to constrain, rather than win them to religion; I have seen some affecting instances of aversion to piety, and even of dissoluteness of manners, which have led me to believe that this extreme of the zealous in a species of religious selfishness, is nearly as fatal to its real influence, as neglect of religious instruction and conversation in the families of cold and heartless professors."

"I happened," said Mrs. C., "to meet some time since, in a small party, a lady whose ardent piety I had often heard mentioned. She and I were the only persons who made any profession of religion, and she was invited chiefly, I believe, from courtesy to me, by the lady of the house where I was spending a few days. I was in hopes, with her assistance, and that of an interesting book I had with me, we might be the means of exciting a spirit of inquiry on religious subjects in the minds of one or two intelligent young people who were present; but in my efforts to connect pious reflections with our little discussions on science, literature, and poetry, she gave me no aid, and answered every question by a monosyllable. This arose, as I afterwards learnt, from an opinion she had adopted, that it was wrong to converse on any subject not strictly religious. When it was proposed to read a little, she objected to the book because it was a fiction, and must therefore, like all novels and romances, be injurious. It was in vain I tried to defend it by endeavouring to prove that works of imagination, in prose as well as poetry, were not necessarily evil, but were capable, in the hands of consecrated talent, of diffusing the purest morality and most elevated piety without any dangerous excitement of the passions; while they appeared to me peculiarly calculated to insinuate important instruction into youthful minds, and allure them to truth by strewing the sober path with flowers. Though I could not get this lady to join in conversing with the rest of the party, she at length drew her chair near me, and after warning me

against worldly conformity, and expressing a hope that I was not unacquainted with experimental religion, entered into a conversation respecting the peculiar difficulties, joys, and sorrows of Christians, which would have been delightful to me at another time and place, but which I then felt was anti-social, being unintelligible and uninteresting to our friends, and calculated to make piety repulsive."

“Yes, it was another form of selfishness in society. To conduct conversation in general company in the spirit of religion, is, as an excellent minister once observed to me, not to make it the sole topic, but to talk religiously on every topic, to show that, by natural association in a pious mind, God is in every thing—his beauty in the loveliness of nature; his wisdom in all its science; his grandeur in all its greatness; his providential control educing good out of evil in the mysterious progress of human events; and his infinite benevolence providing in redemption for the immortal felicity of man, and for that renovation of his nature which unseals the fountain of happiness even here, as we advance towards its fulness in heaven."

CHAPTER XVIII.

SACRIFICE TO FAME.-PARENTAL SELFISHNESS.

"WHAT a precious long lecture I've had about proper respect, and the like, only just because I wasn't dressed in my very best, to recave that Mrs. D'Arcy, the wife of his greatest enemy. A body would think 'twas the Earl of D-, or Lord F, coming to dinner. Master would be wiser if he was'nt so good, say I, and there's rason in that if the sense isn't clear. He'll be chated again by that villain's family."

This was Barry's soliloquy after his master's reproof for not being yet dressed, though the company were every moment expected.

These visitors were Mrs. D'Arcy and her youngest son and daughter, who had accepted Mr. D.'s invitation to come and try whether a milder atmosphere would benefit the son, who was thought to be in danger of consumption. The very grateful and pleasing acknowledgments which Mrs. D. in several ways made of Mr. D'Arcy's kindness respecting the house, had led to a continued interest in her circumstances, and to this visit. The family hoped, during this intercourse, they might be permitted to become instruments of the highest good to this lady; though, from want of con

geniality in religious feeling, and her Roman Catholic prejudices, they expected to derive at present little pleasure from it themselves.

The peculiar circumstances under which they thus for the first time met, rendered the present possessors of D'Arcy Hall especially solicitous to receive their guests with the most delicate expressions of respect, that nothing might remind Mrs. D'Arcy of wrongs which had been inflicted, nor of the inequality of rank which, in the world's estimation, now existed between them.

It was beautiful, in the evening, when Charles D'Arcy retired early to rest, to see Frederick tenderly supporting him on his arm, while Sophia stooped to assist him in putting on his slippers; a tear of grateful sensibility sparkled in the interesting youth's eye as he thanked them both. They were indeed already prepossessed in his favour; nature had bestowed on him not only genius, but that delicate and exquisite sensibility which is the usual attendant of this precious but dangerous gift in its highest forms. Of his father's character he appeared to possess little, excepting his ambition; and it was this passion to which might be attributed the first origin of the insidious disease which was now, with slow but fatal progress, conducting him to an early grave. His prime object in life was to be distinguished, and his taste led him to place excellence, in every department of literature, at an elevation almost unapproachable. This high standard, which should have made him only humble and persevering, rendered him dissatisfied and