thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions!' Turn me again, O Lord God of Hosts, cause thy face to shine; and I shall be saved!""But alas! it seemed as if prayer was indeed unavailing, for though the "sorrows of death compassed her round about," and she felt the extreme of wretchedness in the deep conviction of her innumerable sins, not a ray of hope illumined and comforted her soul, but she was weighed down with the fear, that she had offended beyond redemption, and that however she might seek for pardon, she must remain unforgiven.

21.

One of her young acquaintance from Hcame to spend the afternoon at Elmwood; and in the evening Emily accompanied her part of the way home. Her visitor's lively conversation had failed to overcome her melancholy, and as she returned, slowly and alone, from her walk, she retraced many of the ideas and feelings of her past life. She thought of the happiness she had once expected, the anticipation of which had been sweeter than the enjoyment; of the day-dreams of her childhood, from which she had awoke to find all was "vanity, and vexation of spirit ;"—of all the blighted hopes and painful disappointments, which those who have lived eighteen years in a world where they fondly looked for unbroken felicity, have experienced; and she thought also, with bitter regret, of the happiness she had found, but so soon forfeited. In passing through the church

7

yard, the simple grave-stone of Fanny Gordon caught her eye; for Fanny's wish had been remembered, and she was buried at Elmwood. It presented to the stranger no eulogium on the virtues of the individual whose name it bore; the time of her death, and her age was all that it recorded of her, and underneath was inscribed by her own desire, "Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by ?"

.

Emily leaned against the stone, and shed the mingled tears of grief for the loss of her friend, and remorse for having been the cause of her own present unhappiness. "Oh Fanny !" she exclaimed, “how would your kind and gentle heart have pitied me, if you had known that I was a wanderer from the right way! Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by ?" she continued, gazing through the tears which blinded her eyes, upon the words, "Is it indeed nothing? Is it nothing to me that one so young, so good-one who was my friend, and my sister in affection, should be thus summoned from this world, in the very morning of her life? that one should be taken and the other left ?" Is it not as a warning to me, and am I prepared? If I were this night to die—' prepared !'” repeated she, as she thought of the awful situation in which she would then be placed, "prepared to meet him whom I have in my heart despised and rejected, while before men I professed myself his follower. Oh! what must be my doom but

everlasting
to me but Depart, ye cursed!""

torment! what must be his language

↑ It was becoming dusk when Emily entered the -church-yard, and she was now interrupted, and a little alarmed, by the sound of approaching foot-steps; but leaving the grave, she walked towards the gate which led to Elmwood. As she advanced, she perceived that the person whose entrance had disturbed her was her father, who was coming to meet her, She averted her tearful face as much as she could, and the shades of evening aided her endeavours to conceal it from him; so that without any anxious questioning on the part of Mr. Landor, they walked home together.

Emily passed the rest of the evening in the society of her father, and as she rightly judged that her powers of pleasing could never be exerted for a better purpose than that of enlivening the hours he spent with her, she played and sang his favourite airs, and engaged with him in lively and amusing conversation; nor would any one have imagined, from her appearance and manners, that all this gaiety and cheerfulness was assumed-her smiling lip seemed an evidence of the sunshine of her heart, and her clear laughing eyes had no traces remaining of the tears which had so recently dimmed their brightness. But in the gayest hours of the conscious sinner, "the heart is sorrowful; and, the end of that mirth is heaviness." It was even so with Emily. When she retired for the

night, and her father's observant eye imposed no further restraint upon her, she threw the mask aside, and no longer struggled with the wretchedness of her spirit ; but thinking only of her unhappiness, increased as it was by the consideration that she had brought it upon herself, she poured forth the anguish and misery of her heart in tears and sup¤ plication.

CHAPTER XI.

She scans with tearful eye each cheering word
Of that bright page where Mercy's voice is heard.
And holy men no longer speak in vain

Of Him, the Crucified, who rose again,

And pleads, the sinner's advocate on high,

For sorrowing guilt, how deep soe'er its dye.

The day-spring gleams, the night's dark storm is o'er,
She hails th' absolving voice, "Go, sin no more."

1.

1

The

ONE of Emily's first waking thoughts the next morning was that of having promised to visit Ann Bradbury; and as soon after breakfast as she could leave home, she set out on her walk. house was not more than half a mile from Elmwood, and as Emily had heard Mr. Leslie describe its situation (probably with a view to her visiting it during his absence) and had besides made some

inquiries of the woman whom she had seen the day before, she found it without difficulty. A little girl of about six years old, was seated on a step at the door, nursing another child, much younger than herself, whom she was teaching to call the birds and the cat by their names; and Emily paused a moment to listen to the imperfect accents of the little fellow, as he vainly attempted to pronounce the words "dicky-bird" and "pussy," with the propriety which his sister seemed to think necessary. At length he saw Emily, slowly advancing towards them, and pointing with his rosy finger, he turned his face to his young teacher, as if to ask what she must be called.

"That's a lady, Charley," whispered his sister, in a very low voice; but Charley immediately rendered the liitle girl's precaution useless, by clapping his hands, and loudly calling out, as if to make his new acquirement generally known, "A dady! a dady!"

"Hush, Charley, hush," said his sister, "the lady's coming here ;-you mustn't speak.

.

Emily's arrival had more effect upon the child than his sister's prohibition would have had, and he gazed upon her in silent wonder, while she asked the little girl if a person named Bradbury lived there. Before she had time to reply, the woman who had been to Elmwood opened the door, and asked Emily to walk in. She accordingly did so, and immediately saw the object of her