GER. You must repent, Edward—but are you not relapsing into that error from which you supposed Mr. Percy had freed you, in asking that question? If you can do nothing without Christ, can you repent without him? No, my dear Edward, but, “ Him hath God exalted to give repentance." You have no power but as you receive it from Him. Go, wait on Him-seek a new heart from Him.

EDW. Good night, my dear Gertrude.

GER. Good night, my own beloved brothermore than a common brother—a brother, I hope, in soul also-a brother and friend for ever!

MORNING.

A Breakfast-Room in Mrs. Aberley's House.

GERTRUDE alone.

GER. (Rises and looks at a clock on the mantlepiece.) Eleven o'clock; and no one come to breakfast!

Enters a Servant.

SER. (Presenting a letter.) My master desired me, Ma'am, to give that letter into your own hands.

GER. Is your master gone out, Thomas?

SER. Yes, Ma'am; he set off for the country at eight this morning.

GER. At eight this morning! very well, Thomas. Exit THOMAS.

GER. (Hastily opens the letter and reads.) “My dearest Gertrude,-After leaving you last night I attempted to follow your advice. I knelt down alone in the presence of God. A strange kind

of awe came over my soul. I could not address God. I felt that I knew him not. I recollected that you had said Go to Christ, pour out your heart to him as to your nearest and tenderest friend.' I attempted to do so, but neither did I know him; and my ideas were vague and undefined. Mr. Percy's text came into my thoughts, 'Ye will not come to me that ye might have life;' and I said, 'Lord I come unto thee; cast me not from thee, but give me life.' I remained on my knees, and I felt an awful kind of pleasure in the idea that I was in the presence of God. My sins against God, however, arose on my recollection, and for a time so appalled me, that I had almost risen from my knees in despair; but I remembered your words, If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. If we confess our sin, God is faithful and just to forgive us our sins,'—and, ‘the blood of Jesus Christ his son cleanseth from all sin.' I attempted to confess my sins, but found them too numerous-they seemed more than the hairs of my head. Yet a strange and heavenly peace of mind followed. I felt my breast unloaded of a weight. Still, however, I see every thing most indistinctly, and feel very ignorant, but long for knowledge. I am determined to set out for Scotland immediately. Jarvis is preparing, and I hope to be on the road, with only my Bible as a companion, an hour hence. I have

written to my mother, for I dreaded explanations. Do not mention my state of feelings to any one. I may change; yet pray for me Gertrude, that I Write to me-write as to an ignorant

Ever yours,

do not. child, and advise me. E. A." GER. Dear, dear Edward! (Raising her eyes to heaven.) Lord, I thank thee; perfect thy own work. Who would have thought of this poor straying one, this lost sheep, being brought back by the good all-merciful Shepherd! (Again reads the letter.) No, dear Edward, you will not change! You have come to One from whose love no power shall ever separate you. (Remains some time in a musing posture, then sings.)

"Can the fond mother e'er forget

The infant whom she bore?

And can its plaintive cries be heard,

Nor move compassion more ?

She may forget; nature may fail

A parent's heart to move;
But Sion in my heart shall dwell

In everlasting love."

(While Gertrude sings, Mrs. Aberley enters softly and unperceived by her. Mrs. Aberley stops near the door, and listens.)

GER. Sings.

"Full in my sight, upon my hands,

I have engraved her name;

My hands shall build her ruin'd walls,

And raise her broken frame."

Stops.

Mrs. ABER. Sweetly sung, Gertrude; but am I never again to hear that voice except in mournful hymns?

GER. Not mournful, Mamma; to me soothing and elevating beyond expression. But you have only to say the word, and I shall rejoice in singing whatever my own dear Mamma will listen to, (playfully kissing her mother's cheek.)

Mrs. ABER. Thank you, my good child. I wish you could sing or charm away this sad pain in my poor head. O how my temples throb !

GER. Dear Mamma, you have been too long without breakfast. Let me charm away the pain with tea or coffee.

Mrs. ABER. No, love. I have no desire for breakfast. Your charm must reach my heart. Here is a letter from your brother, telling me he has set off for Scotland early this morning. No power of his guardian's or mine could persuade him a fortnight ago to leave London and go there, even for a few days. (Rising and pressing her hand on her forehead.) I cannot endure this pain. Something dreadful must have taken him there-something that required conceal

ment.

GER. Do not alarm yourself, dear Mamma, I assure you that nothing you dread has taken Edward to Scotland.

Mrs. ABER. Do you then know, Gertrude,