if she still persisted in going to church, and hearing formal prayers, and more particularly the Lord's Prayer. Lucy started at this assertion: "How can that be wrong," said she, "which our Saviour himself taught his disciples to use?"--"It is, however, wrong, ," said the preacher; "and therefore we never suffer it to be read in our chapel."

Lucy returned home disheartened and dispirited. When her father returned in the evening, seated himself in his bee-hive chair, and called upon his daughter, as usual, to read the Psalms and Lessons of the day, her mind was so distracted by the bewildering arguments of the man whom she had just left, that she did not attend to her father's request, but kept turning over the leaves of the Bible, apparently quite lost in thought. "What is the

matter, my child?" said the farmer. Lucy was roused from her train of thinking by this question; and, hastily finding out the Lessons, read them to her father, who thought no more of her disturbed and altered manner.

When Sunday came, Lucy made some trifling excuse for not attending her father to church; and, as soon as he was gone, she sat down to read the various tracts that, from time to time, had been given her by her indefatigable friends. She still kept her sentiments carefully concealed from her father; but the change that took place in Lucy was soon visible: the house, which used to be a pattern of neatness, was now quite neglected; the dairy was entirely left to the management of the servant, who wasted and spoiled much of its produce; the little garden, also, which had hitherto been so much her pride and delight, was no longer the admiration of the passing traveller ; weeds ran in profusion over it, and choked the few scattered flowers that remained. Lucy sat all day long poring over the books that had been put into her hands; and their tendency to excite fanatical feelings, rather than plain unaffected scriptural piety,

was soon too apparent in the conduct of this poor deluded girl. The farmer at first remonstrated in gentle terms with his daughter for her astonishing and total neglect of all household duties; but when at last he discovered the cause, he bitterly lamented his own weakness, in having allowed of any intimacy with the chapel people: he insisted, in a loud and angry tone, that she should give up all further communication with this canting tribe, as he called them. Lucy wept, but continued firm in her resolution not to forsake her zealous friends; nor could any entreaty or threat of her father persuade her to enter the church, where she would probably, at this distracting moment, have received peace and consolation in hearing the very text that bewildered her, expounded in a clear manner.

When all that had passed at the cottage was related by Lucy to her spiritual guide, he rejoiced greatly, and bid her not desist, for the persecution she suffered was for righteousness' sake. Poor girl! no semblance of rejoicing could be traced upon her countenance: her mind was disturbed her peace broken; her father, who used to regard her with the tenderest affection, was now so angry with her for her obstinate adherence to the new light, that he scarcely ever spoke to her but in terms of bitterness and reproach. She often, as she laid her head on her pillow at night, contrasted her former happy life with that which she now led. To have opposed the wishes of a kind parent she would then have thought impossible; now she was enlightened, it was told that religion required her to do so: all the tender affections were to be blunted, and the God of mercy and kindness, according to the creed she had now learnt, must be considered as a stern and arbitrary judge, whom she was to worship in trembling and fear.

One evening, as she was returning from the meeting, she was overtaken by the man who had been so persevering in his endeavours to convert her, as he called

it. Having spoken in high commendation of the firmness of her conduct, he told her, he must now call upon her, with the rest of his flock, to contribute to his necessities, which at present were very urgent. Lucy gave him the contents of her purse, which amounted to only a few shillings. From time to time he continued to solicit her for money: Lucy was much perplexed by his frequent demands; all her little store was soon exhausted, and at last she was obliged to confess she had no more to give. But this indefatigable person was not to be so easily repelled ; he had drawn from the poor unguarded girl, that her father had a hoard of guineas by him: this was a prize not to be lost; he persuaded her that there could be no harm in appropriating a small part of this sum to his use: he spoke of the obligations she lay under to him he had snatched her from the path of destruction, and how could money be better employed than in paying him for such heavenly instruction as he continued, and would always continue, to give her? Lucy was startled at the proposal: to take money secretly from her father, must be a wrong act; for, were we not told in Scripture, that we should not "do evil that good may abound?" Her religious guide, however, soon silenced all these objections, by a number of specious and bewildering arguments, and at last wrung from her a reluctant consent, that she would endeavour to procure for him some part of the hoard.

Days and weeks passed on without her putting her promise in execution. She had often walked into her father's room when she knew he was absent in the fields; but the sight of the box that contained the money threw her into a fit of trembling, and the innate principle of right was still so strong, that she could not bring herself to act in opposition to it: at last, wearied out by the remonstrances, threats, and denunciations of the preacher, she determined, at all events, to take a few guineas from the box; that sum,

perhaps, might never be missed, and the use of it would be of the greatest service and importance to her friend. With these specious reasonings fully impressed upon her mind, she took the opportunity, one night, of her father's sleeping from home, to effect her purpose.

It had been a gloomy, sunless day, and, as the evening closed in, heavy storms of rain fell, accompanied by gusts of wind which shook the cottage casements. Lucy trembled violently as she listened to the hollow sound of the storm, and the candle she held in her hand was often nearly extinguished by the wind. Her heart beat as she approached the box, the key of which she had taken from a drawer where it was always kept. A number of papers and old books lay at the top of the box, and completely concealed the treasure beneath. Lucy removed all these, whilst the wind whistled round her, and often, by its sudden gusts, made her for a moment or two relinquish her search. At last the canvass bag was discovered, tied up with great care: it was heavy, but Lucy did not stop to count its contents; she hastily took out four guineas, and then, replacing the bag, covered the box over as before with the papers and books. Poor Lucy could with difficulty control the agitation of her mind. She sat down to read, but her attention was distracted, and she was startled every moment by the storm that beat against the windows. This made her get up, to put by her tracts, when her eye glanced upon the Bible, the dying gift of her mother. Since she had been converted she had seldom looked into it, and it remained unmolested upon the top shelf of the cupboard. She had possessed herself of one called the Self-interpreting Bible, officiously provided for her by her spiritual guide. The sudden sight of her mother's holy present at such a moment as this had a strong effect upon Lucy's mind: every thing connected with this precious gift rushed upon her imagination; she wept with bitter

ness, and remorse and agony took full possession of her mind. She retired to bed, but her rest was disturbed and broken; in her dreams her mother appeared before her dressed in her graveclothes, pointing reproachfully at the box whence she had taken the treasure, and then seemed in the act of advancing, with menacing looks, towards the bed. The loud shrieks of Lucy dispelled the dream, but left the poor sufferer exhausted, and almost petrified with fear. She slept no more, but rose with the morning dawn, almost determined to return the money. However, this good resolution was not carried into effect: the preacher, who knew of her father's absence, and Lucy's intention of taking that opportunity of getting the money, was early at the farm to secure the treasure, and of course would not listen to the pathetic reasonings of Lucy, and the strong wish she expressed to replace the money in her father's box. He then departed, not a little pleased at the success of his visit.

soon discovered done this act?

The farmer returned to dinner; and for some days did not discover his loss. However, having occasion to examine his box, he found the papers and books not placed, he was sure, in the manner he had left them. He knew the exact sum of money he had in the bag, and, upon counting it over the deficiency. Who can have thought the astonished father. His daughter's estranged conduct, her distress and agitation when he returned home, all now rushed upon his mind, and he felt a horrible conviction that she was the culprit. The poor farmer was much agitated at the thought, and sat for some time ruminating upon the affair : at last he determined to accuse Lucy at once of the theft; and, seeing her in the garden, he called her to him up stairs, and said, in a sorrowful tone of voice," Girl, girl, what wicked wretch could have tempted you to rob your poor old father?" At these dreadful words, overcome with shame,