to the scene, Lefevre sat with his back to the light, and his face to the fire; and it was only, at one time, by the bickering and smoky flame, and at another, by the lurid glare of heated coal, that his features could be discriminated. The whole apparition instantaneously reminded Douglas of some of Fuseli's unearthly conceptions; but with this sense of his present condition, he associated a recollection of the height from which he had fallen.

"Sorrow is a sacred thing." And that sorrow that lies deep in the heart-that breathes no sigh-sheds no tear-utters no complaint-is wonderfully affecting. Douglas never felt more respect mix with his pity, than at this period of Lefevre's uttermost distress. With the delicacy of Job's friends, a delicacy he had often admired, he sat down without saying a word to sympathize with him in silence. Profound was the stillness that prevailed for many minutes. Lefevre seemed moved by his quiet and respectful sympathy; and appeared desirous of noticing it, in proportion as it retreated from notice and expres

sion. He half raised his eyes in an effort to look on him; but they fell under him again. This rejoiced Douglas; and he was waiting for the second effort, expecting it to be successful, when Mrs. Lefevre broke the silence. She did not fully comprehend that communion of spirits which subsists, not only without words, but in scorn of them; and she was uneasy that he did not talk to her son.

"Charles!" said she, "here is Mr. Douglas, you'll speak to him, wo'n't you?" Lefevre, evidently shrunk from this overture, and Douglas, scarcely knowing how to act, said " Charles! I am concerned to see you so unwell."

He spoke not.

"If my speaking," Douglas continued, "is painful to you, only raise your hand, and I will desist altogether."

The hand was not raised. Douglas was encouraged-" There is hope, Charles!" said he.

Lefevre shook his head slightly.

"O yes, I do assure you there is hope! For the vilest returning sinner there is

hope! The tempter may incline

you to think otherwise, but remember he is the father of lies.' He is always tempting us either to presume or despair."

He was silent. Douglas alluded at intervals to the inviting language of Scrip

ture.

"The Redeemer has said, 'Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'

"God has put words into the mouth

of the backslider- Take with

you words and turn unto the Lord, and say unto him, take away all iniquity, and receive us graciously.'"

*

"Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; and let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon."

"God has graciously assured us, 'that he has no pleasure in the death of a sinner, but rather that he should turn unto him and live.' And he condescends to expostulate with us-O why will ye die!? Do not such scriptures afford you encou ragement?"

Again he shook his head..

"O Charles," continued Douglas much affected" do not cast away hope. Think of what you are doing. The mercy of God is unbounded; the merit of the Saviour is infinite; the agency of the Spirit is almighty-to suppose then, that their influence cannot reach you, is to dishonour God in a point where he is most jealous of his glory. Surely you would not wish this?"

His frame seemed to shudder at the

suggestion.

"Then do not reject all. hope!" reLook to Him who

sumed Douglas.

looked with pity on his enemies-his murderers-who looks with pity on you!” ́

"Do, Charles, do!" said his mother.

"Take comfort I entreat you!"

"For your own sake-for the sake of your friends," continued Douglas.

"For my sake-for your mother's sake!" cried Mrs. Lefevre, seizing his passive hand, and kissing it. "O Charles, my dear Charles, take comfort! Are you not my hope-my joy? Do I not live for you only? O Charles, pity your poor distracted mother!-Speak to us Charles! Tell us you will take comfort-that will comfort us!"

"Leave me! leave me!" said Lefevre, gently pressing her away.

"Leave me! leave me!" exclaimed the anguished mother. "O Mr. Douglas! ifI beg of him to speak to me, he says, Leave me, Leave me! I have heard nothing from his lips these four days but-Leave me, Leave me. Cruel words! Cruel child! - he knows I cannot leave him! Can a mother forsake her child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb, Mr. Douglas?"

She walked the room in great distress. "Madam, I beseech you be composed," said Douglas.

"Leave me! leave me!

I do every

thing to comfort him, and he says-Leave