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the fretful and repining spirit which I felt incumbent upon me to indulge, on this my first separation from my friends. During the following week, my grief in some measure exhausted itself, but of all in that large school, I do not recollect a single girl who ever sympathised with me or tried to win my confidence. This was doubtless owing in some degree to the selfishness of my sorrow, which though unsuspected by me, was no doubt apparent to others. Nor can there be any stronger proof of our fallen nature than the diversified and subtle forms which self-love is capable of assuming; and only those who are divinely taught, can detect its specious workings in their own hearts. Certain it is, that I imagined myself to be manifesting an amiable sensibility, when I was in reality proving my regrets to be selfish ones; for I now see plainly that I grieved the most when my inclinations were thwarted. I was tolerably cheerful when not crossed, but if required to do what was unpleasant to me, or punished for neglect of duty, I lamented my absence from home, and indulged in useless repinings.

About this time a circumstance happened which had no small influence upon my future career as a school-girl,—the particulars of which must be reserved for the next chapter.

(To be continued.)

S. A.

THE WAY TO THE GIFT.

THOSE of our readers who are familiar with our last volume, will recollect a tale continued throughout each number, entitled, "The Three Words," in which the writer's object was to show that the terms Seed, Soil, and Sowing, comprised the great ideas necessary to a right understanding of the question of Education.

Perhaps they have felt an interest in the several individuals placed before them in that story, and may be a little eurious to know something of their subsequent history. As the events there recorded happened about seven or eight years ago, we may find an opportunity in the course of the present volume of adding something to the particulars already furnished, and of tracing the further course of the singular and unamiable Major Goode, the learned Doctor Shoveller, the frivolous family of the Walkinshaws, of Mr. Marsham and his wife, better known as Emma

Singleton, and last, though not least, of the despised gypsy tramper, poor Richard Boswell.

But before entering upon this narration, let us review briefly the moral of the story, and endeavor to elicit in a connected form, the practical and seasonable lessons it was intended to convey. Every reflecting mind must be aware that even in the present day, much which passes under the name of education is not education at all. Most of the characters introduced to the reader were selected from the middle ranks of life, and all of them, with the exception perhaps of the gypsy boy, would pass muster, as the saying is, amongst the so-called educated classes. Yet how easily were they led astray by the specious artifices of Puseyism, and how completely they would have been at the mercy of any other form of error which might have crossed their path if it had held out to them any prospect of advantage either temporal or spiritual. But in things temporal, the danger is far less imminent; for men generally grow old in worldly wisdom before they reach the first form in the school of Christ. Often have we been struck with this, when after listening to the common-place and conventional oratory of some immature divine, we have found those men, who in secular knowledge were very far beyond ourselves, loud in praise-not, as we should have expected, of the preacher's simplicity-but of his wonderful attainments in theology.

We honor simplicity, especially among preachers of the gospel; indeed we have always been accustomed to regard it as the natural result-the spontaneous development—of a right trust in the great and glorious promises of the gospel—the fruit of that hope which maketh not ashamed. And this is the relation in which St. Paul places it when writing to the church at Corinth; for after contemplating the greater splendour of the ministration of righteousness as contrasted with the ministration of death, he elicits this practical duty, "Seeing then we have such hope, we use great plainness of speech." Yet Paul with all his plainness, could become "all things to all men, that he might by all means save some."

It will be seen, perhaps, in the following narrative that concessions by no means sinful, or unauthorized by the gospel, may be made more effectual in drawing souls to the knowledge and

practice of the truth than the silly rites of Puseyism or Romanism, have proved in leading away from it. The secret of this happy art, if art it may be called, will form the staple of our present story. Not that we are in possession of any philosopher's stone, or know more on this subject than all may know who read their Bibles; but we have watched the movements of the world around us closely, and for a long period, without detecting many evidences that a talismanic power so generally available is applied either when, where, or as, it ought to be. We are not going to turn the pure water of the river of life into wine, that it may be made more welcome to some feverish palates; nor are we going to tamper with the sincere milk of the word, and spice it with all the aromatics of the east. No. We remember, apropos of this part of our subject, a little anecdote which may not be known perhaps to all our readers. A Romish priest in Ireland detecting a Bible in the house of one of his flock, the following colloquy took place

"Och! and what will ye want, Kitty, with this book: its you that 'll not understand it at all. And besides, don't ye get from your own priest, the sincere milk of the word ?"

"Your reverence, and may be I do," rejoined the poor girl, "but I'd rather keep my own cow, and milk her myself."

When we closed the narrative of the Three Words, we left a good man at St. Fabian's, having managed to get rid of the Reverend Silenus Glosenfane. What became of him when he left the neighbourhood we felt little interest in ascertaining, and our thoughts, we believe, may be more profitably occupied in following the history of the other individuals who figured in the little tale referred to. We have not the happy and easy faith of some persons, who bring about conversions with the rapidity of lightning, or we should, ere concluding our last number, have assured the reader that the gospel once introduced at Springclose, the volatile and the gloomy, the erudite and the unlearned-the Walkinshaws, the Goodes, the Shovellers, and the Curtiseswere soon brought to a right knowledge of their own hearts, and led to see in all the beauty of his character and offices the Lord that bought them. Doubtless such things are matters for great thankfulness and joy, and point a story with effect. But they have one fault—a serious and unpardonable one-they are rarely

true. Not that for one moment we would question the ability of God to bring any one instantaneously out of darkness into his marvellous light. But God's power and God's pleasure are different things. His pleasure is in most cases to employ the great means of his word and ordinances, not only in renewing the heart, but in reforming the life, and we must not shut our eyes to the fact that the soul may be seriously, and in some cases irremediably, injured by such specious and pharisaic observances and marrrowless doctrines as those commented on in the preceding papers.

Our readers, therefore, will not expect to hear of a spontaneous movement for good amongst the worshippers at Springclose. But amongst all the changes and chances incident to the next eight years of our narrative, we may perhaps see them improving in some, if not in all instances. We remember, however, that it is no less a true, because a painful, fact, that error grows as well as grace; and if we find one or two of the characters referred to, adding sin to sin-not perhaps by outward acts, so much as by inward inaction—by a spirit of slumber, and a deadness to the great business of salvation, we must not start back with unmitigated surprise and horror, but look around with holy circumspection, remembering the exhortation which speaks to one and all-"Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall."

Mr. Singleton, the new minister of St. Fabian's, had not been long settled there, before the better state of things already hinted at, commenced. The majority of worshippers were ready for the reception of the sound and sober truths he propounded, and had in fact been the prime movers in the remonstrance which issued in the removal of Mr. Glosenfane. It is a gratifying fact that in many other instances, the general body of the laity are first roused to opposition when the sound and healthful services of the church are invaded, and the clergyman, except under very peculiar circumstances, is left in a pitiable minority. There may be a few superficial religionists, and a small circle of personal acquaintances who side with him and don the badge of his party, but the more honest and homely worshippers, are exquisitely alive to innovation, even though it extend no farther than the omission of a hymn, the intrusion of a prayer, or the varying posture of the officiating party.

The church at Springclose soon wore a different aspect. Instead of a sprinkling of attendants, scattered like gleaning grapes, about the airy aisles, the dim galleries, and the old oak stalls, the church was respectably filled in every part. The Walkinshaws, so far as public worship was concerned, seemed scarcely to know that any change had taken place. All smiles and plausibility, they joined as a matter of course, the multitude who kept holy day, and for a few weeks startled the propriety of the place by the rustling of their silks and satins down the aisle, some ten or twenty minutes after the commencement of the service. But after these few weeks, they came earlier, Mr. Singleton having paid a visit to the Lindens, and hinted something about a certain Mrs. Hannah More, who had once said that "it formed no part of her religion to disturb the religion of others." This little incident told well with the young ladies, and they took the hint without any explanation, which was perhaps a much wiser course than bringing matters to an issue. Roger Byfield was not often seen there on account of the distance, but we used to chat together some times on the cheering aspect of affairs, when he always wound up the conference with a cheerful smile, and the remark "You din't think we should so soon get rid of him-did ye? But I see from the first how things would turn out."

To Emma Singleton and her husband was assigned the large pew in the chancel lately occupied by Dr. Shoveller, who, after two or three visits to the church, found the new doctrines there propounded would not suit him. His faith lay in the meretricious character of the rites; and these once dispensed with, he saw no object in attending. Major Goode was not seen there very often. Not relishing the gospel in its symmetry, as preached by Mr. Singleton, he staid at home, and thus afforded his aged housekeeper, Mrs. Griffin, the privilege of attending much more frequently than she had before done. The Major had no real dislike however to the new minister, or to myself, who frequently officiated for him; and sometimes condescended to nod approval of our doctrine! But in these rare instances it was the quotation of "gracious texts" and "strong-meat truths," rather than our own sentiments, that he thus sanctioned. Things went on in this way for some months, till he received,

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