re intelligence had spread through a large number of families in the town. Poor Beauclerk was highly and deservedly spected. He wanted but one thing, it was said by many,-but wanting that, he wanted every thing,-to render him all that a human being could desire to be,-RELIGION! That, indeed, he had not. He was a fashionable of the day, without either the ridiculousness of the Dandy, or the loose profanity of a professed gallant. His correct views of true gentility preserved him from the one, while his natural habits induced a repugnance to the low and degrading vices which are bedizened with the epithets of gallantry and spirit. Perhaps it might be said, that a misconception of the nature of religion, judging of it only by the imprudent conduct of some of its unholy professors, and not from the statute book of truth itself, led him to be more indifferent to its paramount claims, and inconceivable importance, than he otherwise might have been. The sigh of regret, and the tear of sorrow, burst from the hearts and fell from the eyes of many, as the tidings reached them, that the young and amiable Walmer Beauclerk was killed. But there was one family to which the busy report soon reached, to describe the grief of which, would require language such as has not yet been employed by human tongue. It was frenzy itself, and frenzy in its climax; It assumed a wildness of the most desolating order--and there was ONE of that family, who heard the tidings as though she heard them not. A stupor at first fastened upon her finely cultivated mind, as if the fountain of consciousness was suddenly dried up. sat unmoved where first the information had reached her. She "Pale, as a marble statue pale',' until the tide of powerful feeling, rushing with impetuous and devastating violence through her stricken heart, she raved aloud, demanding with maniacal cry, her own, her dear, dear Beauclerk, and then sunk awhile into the arms of unconsciousness by continued swoonings. This was the lovely, the betrothed Georgiana. The day of the espousals of Beauclerk and herself had already been fixed. The bridal attire was prepared, cards of invitation to an extensive circle had been despatched--one week and a few days, only, intervened betwixt the solemnization of the rite, which the town stood on the tip-toe of desire to witness. On the morning of the present day, Georgiana had rode on a visit to the seat of Lord W. a near relation, where Beauclerk was to 2D. SERIES, NO. 1. VOL. I. have joined her in the evening at a splendid ball. The day was fast declining, and busy preparation was making for "Mad revelry's own reign-the waste of time, The idle romp, and sacrifice of health," when the crushing intelligence reached the ears of the fascinating fair one. As soon as she had so far recovered from her swooning, as to express her wishes, she insisted upon being instantly assisted to her carriage, and driven hoine. Every means resorted to, to induce her to change her mind, was ;o no purpose; her determination was fixed, therefore complied with. Lord Whimself accompanied her to her father's, and, with all the soothing expsessions of friendship, strove to calm the alarming paroxysm of her agony,—but "Who can minister to a mind diseas'd, Or pluck from memory a rooted sorrow?" Week after week passed away, and each succeeding period left the widowed Georgiana-for so in heart she felt she was,— as it found her, a prey to consuming sorrow. Health no longer gamboled on her cheek; her pointed and ready wit, no longer threw around its fascinations, or dealt out its sarcastic repartees; nor did her form, beautiful as if intended for a model of symmetry itself, grace the ball-room, or pass down the mazy dance. Her mind had retired into itself, and, during the hours of solitary and lonely seclusion, she had made discoveries, which never could have been conceived of, amidst the fashionable groups from which she had but recently been separated. The sorrow, under which she laboured, had not merely given her a transient disrelish for the enjoyments of parties, routs, and revels, but appeared to have broken up her very power of participating in such enjoyments. Some alarming, yet indistinct conceptions of her moral character, threw her mind into a state of inconceivable anxiety. She strove to turn from the unwelcome impression, but it pursued her, or rather she bore in her own person the positive evidence of her depravity; her conscience had been roused from its torpidity, and now clammered in accents of condemnation against the things which she had formerly allowed. A course of amendment was proposed in her own mind, and, under secret purposes of renouncing the world, in its " pomps and vanities,' she soothed herself awhile into the belief, that her future conduct should make reparation for her former errors. Leicester was at this period favoured with the ministry of the eminent Mr. RoBINSON, whose piety, zeal, and ministerial qualifications have seldom been exceeded. The church in which Mr. Robinson dispensed the word of life, (St. Mary's) was that in which Georgiana and her friends held their family pew; and to it, when they did visit the church, they went. Of the enthusiastic views of Mr. Robinson, they did not highly approve: but then, his character was unimpeachable, and seemed as an impregnable bulwark against any attack which even the foes of truth might feel disposed to make. They did indeed, not infrequently, in the fashionable circles which they visited, deplore most pathetically that the Church of England should have within her peaceful borders, some of those fanatical disturbers of quiet order, who, like the unauthorised teachers of dissent should feel anxious to turn the world upside down; as however they hoped that the activity of some of their mitred-headed defenders of the faith would stop the alarming progress of evil, they bore what they then had not the ability to remedy. The first place to which Georgiana repaired after her partial convalescence was to St. Mary's. The seat which on former occasions she had filled, she again occupied; but now the listless attitudes, and the irreverent gaze, the results of a spirit unimpressed and unengaged, no longer characterized her. She saw, she felt, a beauty and a majesty in worship, till then unknown. The sentiment of Jacob at Bethel, possessed her: "How dreadful is this place! this is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven." Her soul seemed absorbed in the solemnities of the service. She listened with all the docile simplicity of a child to receive instruction, and while the venerable messenger of truth expatiated on afflictions, and the happy results which sometimes follow their endurance, Georgiana conceived his eye rested exclusively upon herself, and that some officious friend had furnished him with a statement of her peculiar case: but by what process, a knowledge of the feelings of her mind had been attained to by him, she was at a loss to divine. Still more deeply impressed with the importance of piety, she returned to her closet, and by the word of God, and prayer, sought the direction of Infallibility itself. Time continued in its unceasing flight to pass on. Georgiana had for months regularly attended at the house of God, to the no small mortification of her affectionate, but mistaken friends. Still no acquaintance had been formed betwixt herself and Mr. Robinson. He had never been invited to her father's house, and, as she had ceased to visit altogether, she had not as yei met with him. At length, however, the pleasure which she had often wished to enjoy was afforded her, by an intimate acquaintance, and an unchanging friendship with the reverend gentleman. Passing the parsonage-house one sabbath, between the services, Georgiana observed him standing at the door. A polite recognition took place, followed by a kind invitation from Mr. Robinson, to enter his house. The invitation was most cheerfully accepted by her, and a conversation commenced of an order most likely to interest and benefit her mind. Mr. Robinson had for a considerable time observed her regular attendance at his church, and her devout deportment while there, but, until this period, was an entire stranger to the peculiar circumstances which had led to such pleasing results. 66 a Hitherto the path of Georgiana had been comparatively smooth, but the declaration of Him whom she had determined to follow alike "through evil and good report," could not be avoided by actual experience. "If any man will live godly in Christ Jesus, he shall suffer persecution. And man's foes shall be those of his' own house." Some of her late friends derided her fanatical notions, some pitied her weakness, and not a few settled it in their minds, that the disappointment she had met with had affected her mental powers, and that if she had not a devil, she was at least mad. Even to her most endeared relations, she appeared as one little better than a stranger; still she continued "steadfast, and unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord." Two years had run off the wheel of time, when the Rev. Mr. C- the pious and intelligent curate of Mr. Robinson, who had for some months previously, offered himself, among several others dignified for title, rank, and fortune, for the affections of Georgiana, received her hand at the altar. The dazzle of worldly pomp and influence had ceased to affect her, and she chose rather to be the wife of a country curate now, than to figure as she might have done, the admiration and the envy of the gay and the beautiful, as the lady of some halfwitted or profligate honourable. Eminently calculated, by her piety and cultivated mind, for the important situation which she now filled, she soon became, by her prudent and persevering zeal, her amiable and unassuming spirit, a pattern of good works to those among whom she moved. Shortly after their union, the affectionate pair removed from Leicester, to a short distance from Nottingham. Sir Thomas Perkins having presented Mr. C▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ with the living of Bunny. In the vicinity of the splendid mansion of Sir Thomas, stood the more humble dwelling of the Reverend Mr. C. They had not long taken up their residence in their new parish, before a polite, but pressing card of invitation was received by them, from the baronet and his lady, to meet a party at the hall for dinner, on an appointed day. Sensitive to excess, the interesting Mrs. C. fearing lest the duties of her station might be broken in upon by such acquaintance, and dreading the possibility too, of again feeling attached to parties and pursuits which she had from principle given up, and which she now felt she ought to decline, she pressed Mr. C to ex cuse himself from accepting the kind invitation which Sir Thomas had so kindly sent them. Ingenious as the excuse might have been which the rev. gentleman tendered, it was not deemed conclusive by his friendly patron. Before the day had arrived, Mrs. C- was surprised in the midst of her domestic arrangements, by a visit, sans ceremoni, from Lady Parkins herself, who, with all the good-natured familiarity of good breeding, jocosely informed her that she was aware her acknowledgments were due to Mrs. C for her pleasant morning ride, for had she not by her witchery influenced the mind of Mr. C, the excuse which he had tendered to Sir Thomas would not have been made, and so her ride would not have been called for; she had however called to say, that no excuses which the ready mind of Mrs. C might furnish, would satisfy either herself or Sir Thomas. "In short," added the smiling lady," Sir Thomas has charged me to say, you must favour us with your company nolens volens." In vain did Mrs. C- urge her incapacity to mix again with parties, it was reasoning which Lady Perkins did not understand. In vain did she plead the want of dresses which would comport with her ladyship's splendid drawing-room, and especially the singular notoriety she should possess-from her plain and unornamented cap. Lady Parkins had no ears for any thing which did not accord with her wishes, and every moment's hesitancy to comply with her desires only tended to augment them. After more than half an hour's controversy on the subject in question, her ladyship most affectionately pressed the hand of Mrs. C, and as she stepped into her carriage, nodded a familiar "good day," and touching her smiling lips with her fingers, called out, as the vehicle moved off—“We shall see you on Thursday." Two days afier this visit, on the return of Mr. and Mrs. C- from an evening's walk, which they had taken, to see and converse with an invalid in an adjoining village; the servant informed Mrs. Cthat a box directed to herself had been left by one of Lady Parkins' servants. On its being opened, a splendid dress cap, accompanied by a polite note from Lady Parkins, requesting the favour of her acceptance of it, were discovered. Mrs. C saw instantly the invincible determination of her ladyship, that she should accept the invitation, and felt as if good manners would not permit her longer to oppose. Still she felt a measure of regret beyond what she could even account for: and notwithstanding the affectionate raillery of Mr. C upon the subject, a sleepless night and an uneasy day preceded the dreaded visit. The appointed morning arrived; and on reaching the hall, Mr. and Mrs. Cwere introduced to a large and fashionable company, many of whom, having heard of the accomplishments of Mrs. C—, were anxious to meet her. The young and the aged, lavished alike upon her all the attentions which even envy of superior attractions either of person or parts will not sometimes fail to produce. It was upwards of two years and a half since she had mixed in a polite circle; yet the charms of elegant manners and the attractions of occasional intellectual converse won upon her insensibly, and with a degree of unconsciousness she became one of the party, or felt as if she breathed in her own atmosphere. Her conversational powers were of a superior order, and now the employment of them was courted. Her opinion was constantly requested, and her decisions listened to with well-bred deference. The occasional, and indeed frequent pleasantry of Sir Thomas and his amiable lady, enlivened the party, and Mrs. C― felt a portion of gratification. enjoyed, Many circumstances frequently unite to produce results which were not previously contemplated. So it was on the present occasion, and these tended greatly to produce the ease which Mrs. C Her high sense of courtesy, and attention to polite behaviour, made her feel, that as a guest of Sir Thomas, it would be a breach of good manners to be reserved and unaffable at his table. In addition to this, she had taken her seat at dinner by the side of a most fascinating and well-informed gentleman, a captain in the East India service. Blended with the usual frankness of a British sailor, and the attractions of a handsome person, he possessed a winning address, a voice whose tones he knew well how to modulate so as to produce effect, and a disposition highly tinctured with gallantry. Like Desdemona listening to the Moor's narrative of hardships by " flood and field," she attended to his touching or sprightly accounts of the service and scenes through which he had passed. Earlier than the usual hour in the evening, the company moved to a spacious and superbly lighted ball-room. Thither the captain escorted Mrs. C. The music struck up in "soul-subduing sounds." The polite son of Neptune requested and obtained the hand of Mrs. C as his partner, and immediately with this accomplished lady led off the dance! Scarcely had Mrs. C reached the bottom of the room, before an overwhelming conviction, amounting almost to distraction, seized her mind, in reference to the impropriety of her conduct. The struggle now was short; she no longer meditated what course to take; she attended no longer to the sophis try of a fallen human nature, but instantly, scarcely knowing what she did, left the apartment, and hurried towards her quiet dwelling. The moon shone brightly as she quitted the hall, and, with a mind agonized and yet prayerful, she passed on alone, nor halted until she found the doors of her own welcome recluse shut upon her. The departure of Mrs. C was not immediately discovered, but when it was, an alarming sensation spread through the party. Inquiries were instantly set on foot concerning her. No one had seen her leave the room, and even the captain, at the moment of her exit, having turned to exchange a word with a gentleman near him, could neither give information of, nor account for her sudden departure. Information, however, from a servant, soon produced order. Mrs. Chad met her as she hurried from the hall, and complained of sudden indisposition, and intimating her fear of disturbing the company, she had conceived it most proper to return home, but at the same time objected to the tendered services of the servant. The dance was resumed with all the spirit which the devotees of so unintellectual an employ could display, while Mr. C--- hasted home to join his beloved Georgiana. Here an understanding soon took place, while the positive determination of Mrs. Cwas made, never again, on any pretence, to mingle with the fashionable world. A few years after this, Sir Thomas Par kins, was rather suddenly summoned to the world of spirits, and his widow, who had ever cherished the most affectionate regards towards Mrs. C, feeling the loneliness of her situation, determined to break up her establishment, and, if possible, more fully to enjoy the society of Mrs. C. In order to accomplish this, she made a proposal of the most handsome kind, that she might reside with her friends at the rectory. This was a new trial for the amiable woman. She knew the spirit and habits of Lady Par kins, and trembled lest such a connexion might have an unfavourable influence over her own mind. After considerable conversation and prayer for direction, arrangements were made for the proposed change in their establishment, and her ladyship became a resident beneath their humble roof. The influence of practical piety soon displayed itself in the conduct of Lady Parkins. The spirit of the pious Mrs. C was caught by her; light was followed by conviction; and conviction led to the diligent search after, and speedy possession of, that grace which renews the heart, and sanctifies the soul. Humility and devotedness to the interests of religion, and not of party, were now the principal characteristics of Lady Parkins. Not only by proxy, but in person, she strove to do good; and hence she became herself a Sabbath School Teacher, in a village some distance from Bunny; and in order to devote all her time to this "work of faith and labour of love," not unfrequently did she eat her dinner in the school-room, and then resume her instructions to the children of the poor. The inhabitants of the rectory were a happy, useful trio. They copied the example and emulated the spirit of Him, who "went about doing good."-Often did Mrs. C admiringly survey the mysterious workings of the providence of God; and while, with her beloved husband and Lady Parkins, she contemplated the wonderful results which had flowed from the premature death of her lamented Beauclerk, subscribe to the sublime aphorism of the psalmist, "Clouds and darkness are round about him, righteousness and judg ment are the habitation of his throne"while with Cowper each of the party sang→→ "Long unafflicted, undismay'd Thou mad'st me feel thy chastening rod, He taught my tears awhile to flow, THE ATHEIST. "Lo, a form, divinely bright, COTTON. ""Tis heav'n itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man." ADDISON. It was on a delightful July morning, during a short sojourn in the north of England, that my friend Charles Lawrence and my self forsook our pillows, to wander amid the charming scenery which surrounds Bassenthwaite Water; one of the most beautiful lakes in Cumberland. Enlivened by the warbling of the feathered choir, we trod airily along, until we had surmounted one of the highest hills, which bound the lake on its northern side. The enchanting prospect that every where met our view would have amply repaid a walk ten times the distance of that we had taken. About three miles to the south lay the smiling vale of Keswick, nurturing in its bosom the town of Keswick, and the lake of Derwent Water, with all its paradisiacal scenery of bold lofty uplands, and smiling tranquil valleys Beyond this could be traced the expansive silver waters of Buttermere Lake, and Lowes Water, the latter of which closed at that point the view, and seemed to kiss the orb whose brilliancy tinged her bosom with gold. On the opposite side of Bassenthwaite, was a wide extent of pasture land, here swelling into small eminences, and anon sinking gracefully into sloping vales; all alike clothed with the freshest verdure, relieved in many parts by clusters of small white cottages, which gemmed the landscape, and seemed like so many pearls upon the mantle of nature. On the skirts of these fields soared the towering mountain Skiddaw, like a giant protector of Nature's works, and the entire scene received animation from the rapidity with which the river Derwent flowed through its whole length, sparkling and winding like a silver-scaled serpent. As we stood gazing tranquilly upon the beauties I have presumptuously endeavoured to describe, the still air was suddenly broken by the tolling of a bell; and looking in the direction from whence the sound proceeded, we perceived, enthroned upon the apex of a gentle acclivity, one of those gothic ivy-grown churches which have stood in different parts of the country-uninjured by the lapse of time-since the primitive days of Christianity in this country. Already were cleanly and neatly attired peasants proceeding with sedate steps from various quarters towards the sacred edifice, (for it was Sunday morning), and it formed no unpleasing sight to see the aged assisted by the youthful, or the rustic flaxen-haired girl led up the hill by her ruddy-faced ad mirer. "Come, Lawrence," said I, "let us hasten across the fields, and make two of the congregation"-" With all my heart," returned he, and, taking my arm, we walked to the margin of the lake, where the passage-boat awaited to ferry us over. The distance to the church was about three miles, on account of the long sweep taken by the hills in their descent, it therefore occupied nearly an hour to traverse the intermediate ground; and on arriving at the door we paused, thinking it would appear indecorous to enter so long after service had commenced, and eventually determined on strolling about the church-yard until it was over. Every thing here was calculated to tranquillize the mind, and soften the everyday feelings of the heart to that mellow melancholy, yet pleasing tone, which the emblems of mortality are sure to inspire. A deep shade was cast over the ground by a thickly planted row of yew-trees that surrounded it, and many a tale of sorrow was told by the wooden tombs, which recorded the death of husbands, wives, parents, and children. The burial-ground extended to the very verge of the hill which at one side was pretty steep, and presented the same scene to view, that we had before beheld; though every feature of it was altered on account of its being seen from a different point. We had now a better opportunity of admiring the beautifully simple style in which the church was built. It consisted of a long low chancel, and at the west-end a square embattled tower or belfry. Many parts appeared to have been recently in a very ruinous condition, as they were patched up with red bricks, giving the building an appearance of much greater stability than, perhaps, it really possessed. Whilst thus indulging ourselves, we were attracted by the figure of an old man, who was slowly toiling up the hill, evidently in great pain. Age had bent him nearly to. the ground, and it appeared totally impossible for him to preserve a standing position without the assistance of two stout oaken staves on which he leaned his whole weight. He was clad in a well-brushed but threadbare coat of a russet-gray colour, with long skirts, each furnished with a pocket, out of which peeped a prayer-book and a bible. A flowered waistcoat that reached considerably below his hips, scarcely allowing a |