appearance. The funeral solemnities and procession were costly and imposing; but when from a crevice in an upper window Mary beheld the coffin placed within the hearse, a crowd of thoughts rushed upon her mind; a tumult of emotions was excited in her bosom, and rushing from the window she retired to her bedroom, where, for some time, she was the subject of strong hysterical feelings. After a time, she gained relief by a flood of tears. She opened her Bible, and the first words which met her eyes were the pathetic appeal of God by the prophet Isaiah-Wilt thou not from this time cry unto me, my Father, thou art the guide of my youth.' She was struck with the appeal. It seemed as if it had been written for or addressed to her. She lifted her streaming eyes and exclaimed—" Yes, Oh! my God, I will call thee my father; pity thy wretched child, and guide me through every danger to meet my sister and my parents in heaven."

She passed some part of the day in conversation with Margaret, who endeavoured to administer to her spiritual consolation, and to direct her as to her future conduct; and who earnestly entreated her to watch unto

prayer, lest she should, by temptation, be drawn aside from following the Redeemer.

The next day Margaret was discharged, her services being no longer required; but her discharge was by Mrs. Slade, and with expressions of respect; thus this pious young woman found that in the end she was not injured by steady, patient, and faithful service of God; that the word is true which says, "Be not weary in well-doing, for in due season ye shall reap if ye faint not."

CHAPTER IX.

For some days it was not observed by Mr. or Mrs. Slade that any alteration had taken place in the mind of Mary. It is true they observed that she seemed more sedate and thoughtful; but then they attributed it to the influence of the recent death of her sister, and expected this temper would wear off. Already Mr. and Mrs. Slade talked and acted as if nothing of importance had thrown any damp upon their minds, and Jane was forgotten.

They therefore tried to rouse Mary from what they called her mopishness and melancholy.

"My dear Mary," said Mr. Slade, "you are getting so dull that you must be roused. Come, cheer up, I will take you to-night to the play," "I had rather not go, uncle," said Mary.

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Why not?" said he; "I am sure it will dispel your melancholy and do you good." "But I would prefer staying at home, much," said Mary.

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Why, you surely are not becoming religious V said Mr. Slade, in a tone half jest and half earnest.

"And why should I not, sir ?" said she; "I am sure I should like to die as Jane did, she was so happy."

"Don't talk any of your nonsense to me; 'twill be time enough for you to trouble yourself about that yet."

"No, uncle," said she, "I am sure that my father and mother would not have liked for me to go there."

"Your father and mother?" said he; "what, has that Margaret been saying any thing about them?" and he knit his brows and

to you

bit his lips with rage.

"Sir, you must not condemn Margaret; Jane

showed me some of my mamma's letters to Miss O'Brien, and I know now her ideas about those things."

"That Irish, canting jade," said he, "so she has been insinuating her influence into my house, the mean—" and he broke forth into invectives, and was transported with ungovernable fury.

"Now, I tell you, miss, your parents intrusted you to my care, and while you are subject to my control, you shall do as I order— you will go with me to the play."

Mary went, and on her way thither her uncle treated her with unusual kindness. At first she felt, for all that she witnessed, unfeigned disgust; yet before the conclusion of the evening she was interested in the performance, and her countenance and air appeared more gay than for some time before. After she retired for the night her conscience accused her, and her anguish was exceedingly great. She resolved, again and again, that she would refrain from such indulgences—but, alas! her mind was not sufficiently imbued with the spirit of the Gospel; her heart was not altogether detached from the world; her "goodness was like the morning cloud and early dew which vanisheth away."

It is much easier for a young person to endure the scowling indignation of coercive persecution and firmly to withstand it, than to encounter sarcasm and ridicule; and especially when efforts are made, with apparent kindness, to detach from religion. The fable of the sun and the wind trying their efforts to make the traveller disencumber himself of his cloak, are here fully verified. The sun, with his warmth, could easily effect what the storm and rain could not do. So multitudes have been, by seemingly kind attentions, drawn aside from the exercises of piety, whom open and cruel opposition would have confirmed in them.

Mr. Slade was too wary an observer of human nature not to know this. He often treated Mary's seriousness with banter and ridicule. He at the same time redoubled his attentions to her, and thus gained her confidence and regard, leading her on from step to step, from amusement to amusement, till she had completely returned to the world.

Not that Mary was brought into this state without previous anguish or painful conflicts with her conscience. No: for a season she was truly miserable. In her hours of secrecy and retirement she felt all the goadings and