and even interesting, that it often attracted the admiration of the passing traveller. The inside of the house wore the same air of neatness in all its parts. The shining pewter was ranged with great exactness upon the kitchen shelves; and upon the white walls of the small parlour hung the school works of Lucy: the sampler, in diversified colours, and, next to that, the mightier performance of the map of England, all traced out with the needle and diligent hand of the youthful artist. A few rude imitations of the flowers that were so frequently before her eyes, were to be seen over the mantle-piece; and these a fond and proud mother carefully preserved in a frame.

In happiness and peace glided away many years of the life of this respected pair: the first dawn of morning found them at their different avocations; whilst Lucy assisted her mother in the dairy, and when the necessary toils of the day were done, she regularly seated herself at a little oak table, and read a portion of Scripture to her parents, before they slept. The farmer and his wife had been religiously brought up, in the good old Church of England principles: they frequently heard with pain the Church and the Church minister railed at; but it had no effect in alienating them from their duty; they read their Bible with instruction and consolation, and derived from it that peace which the world cannot give. Some parts, indeed, they found difficult to understand; but these parts were often explained to them by their minister, a pious and learned man, who resided constantly in his parish; and every thing relating to their conduct in this life was so plainly laid down by our blessed Saviour himself, that they felt, if they endeavoured, with deep humility, to follow, praying for the blessings of grace, the great example he had set before them, they could not be in the wrong path.

Under the guidance of such worthy people, we cannot wonder that Lucy grew up religious, kindhearted, and affectionate in the highest degree to her

parents; for, though an only child, she had never been falsely indulged, nor had the natural sweetness of her disposition been destroyed, by giving way to all the little humours and caprices attendant upon childhood. Her parents loved her with unfeigned affection, and that affection taught them to be anxious to correct her, whenever they saw occasion.

Lucy had now attained her eighteenth year; she was tall and of a prepossessing appearance; her countenance was animated with the glow of health, and her eyes beamed with cheerfulness. The cultivation of flowers was one of her favourite amusements; it was her hand that planted them in the little nice borders that surrounded the garden, which it was Lucy's pride to keep so neat, that a weed could not be discovered. Her next delight was to pluck the first rose of summer, and, with the aid of flowers less rare, to form a nosegay for her parents, to wear to church.

Poor Lucy! how soon did all these artless pleasures fade away, and thy young mind become the prey of many sorrows! The first interruption to Lucy's happiness was the declining state of her mother's health: her complaint, which was dropsical, was long and lingering. Lucy watched over her beloved parent with the greatest attention and tenderness; sometimes buoyed up with the hope that the medicines administered to her mother would restore her, at other times she sunk into a state of deep dejection at the rapid increase of her complaint; but these feelings were always carefully concealed from her mother, though it required an effort of the strongest kind to suppress her sobs and tears, when she looked upon the pale and emaciated countenance before her. The father's avocations kept him most of the day from home; but he never entered the sick chamber, upon his return, without seeing Lucy actively employed in attending upon her mother, and,

with the greatest patience and tenderness, anticipating every want.

Surely there can be no sight more interesting and acceptable to the Supreme Being, than that of an affectionate child hovering over the sick bed of a feeble parent, fulfilling all those tender duties, and paying back those anxious cares and attentions which she has received in her childhood.

All the solicitude and watchings of Lucy, by the bedside of her mother, could not avail. God has said, "Dust thou art, and unto dust thou must return." One evening, as Lucy and her father were watching the short and beaving breath of the departing sufferer, she made a sign for her daughter to bring her the Bible, which lay in the chair beside her, and clasping it with her feeble hands, she kissed it, and gave it to her weeping child. Her lips moved as if in prayer. The father and daughter knelt down by the bed: life was fast receding; she made an effort to raise herself; it was the last struggle of expiring nature; she sunk upon the bosom of her husband, and ceased to breathe.

Lucy still held in her hand the precious gift of her mother. "I will never part with it," said she, kissing with fervour the holy book, and weeping violently as she continued to gaze upon the inanimate form before her. Her attention, after a time, was turned towards. her father. He still knelt beside the bed of death: Lucy approached him, and they mingled their tears in silence the entreaties of his daughter at last prevailed upon him to leave the room.

In a few days all the melancholy preparations for the funeral were completed. Poor Lucy had a mournful pleasure in decking the corpse of her mother with a few flowers of spring: she wept bitterly as she walked round the little garden to select those particular ones she remembered her mother, when living, was so fond of. Alas! what melancholy association of ideas did the flowers she held in her hand now

convey! Her parent no longer lived to admire their beauty and sweetness; they were destined to be the last tribute of affectionate regard she should ever be able to pay; and, whilst placing them round the pallid form of her mother, her tears fell fast, and with difficulty did she finish her mournful employ

ment.

The friends of the deceased came to look their last farewell: they admired the placid countenance of the corpse; it denoted, they said, without a doubt, that she was now happy; and they tried to comfort the weeping husband and daughter with this assurance.

By the young and ardent, who have hitherto viewed life only in its most attractive form, who have had no affliction, but are blessed with health and spirits, while hope gilds all their prospects, the first stroke of sorrow is felt with peculiar bitterness. It seemed to Lucy, as she hung over the corpse of her mother, that, when this beloved object was consigned to the earth, she should never again know happiness: she shrunk from consolation, and could not believe that time would reconcile her to the loss; her streaming eyes were lifted to heaven, and her fervent wish and prayer was, that she and her father might soon be admitted into those regions of bliss, where she should again meet that parent whose loss she now so bitterly deplored. These are the natural feelings of youth new to affliction; time, however, did imperceptibly shed its healing balm over the mind of Lucy: she had many occupations to prevent her thoughts dwelling continually upon her loss; she managed her father's house, and, though she had a servant to assist her, she did not allow herself to be a moment idle. The cottage of the farmer stood at some distance from any other house; their nearest neighbours lived about a quarter of a mile from them; the family consisted of three persons, a father and two daughters, one of them about the age of Lucy, the other some years older: they were kind and neighbourly at the time

Lucy lost her mother; and this kindness imperceptibly led her to think favourably of them, and feel grateful for the little attentions they paid her. It is true, she remembered her mother always objected to her making them her intimate associates, as they were often heard to laugh at and turn into ridicule their neighbours, for taking the trouble of going two miles to church, which they called a heap of stones. The farmer did not think about these matters so seriously as his wife had done. Lucy was so kind and affectionate to him, that he felt glad that she should sometimes have a little recreation; and therefore he rather encouraged the intimacy which was taking place between his daughter and the young woman. Lucy was naturally, from the afflictive event that had taken place in her family, more than usually alive to attention and kindness, and she said to herself, Surely, if my poor mother had known them better, she would not have forbidden my being often with these people. - One Sunday, after she had attended church with her father, and had just finished reading to him a part of the Bible, which the clergyman, in his sermon of the day, had pointed out to their particular attention, her two female friends entered, and persuaded Lucy, as the afternoon was fine, to take a walk with them. After sauntering about for some time, they came in sight of the meeting. This was a professed Anti-nomian meeting. "Come," said her eldest companion; "come, service is just going to begin, it will not be over before it is dark, but we will see you safe home." Lucy hesitated—she remembered her mother's injunctions never to leave her church; curiosity, however, and the urgent entreaties of her friends, (most unhappily for her,) overcame her scruples. This visit to the meeting naturally led to an acquaintance with a minister, whom she frequently met at the house of her new associates. Religion was always the topic of conversation; and he soon convinced this poor timid girl that she had no chance of salvation