of yours. Not only indeed double, but stronger by a thousand times ten thousand; for what is time compared to eternity? what is the contempt of man, compared to the wrath of God?"

Jane, Oh, very true!" cried Morton; "but how or where did you learn to speak with so much wisdom?" "Oh, do not mock me," returned Jane, reproachfully; "I have no wisdom; I pretend to none; I only speak what I learn from my Bible, and I have you to thank for having been taught to read it." "And from my soul I thank you for having read it to so much purpose," said her father. "And you shall read it to me daily, and I trust my repentance for what is past will be accepted of God, and that I shall have grace to perform the resolutions I have made to lead a new life; for I, too, am now armed with a motive that looks beyond this world, even the mercy of my God."

From that day Jane's happiness may be said to have been complete: for though months elapsed before her father was able to resume his employment, so greatly was his temper altered, that her attendance upon him was a source of pleasure; and every pious sentiment he uttered, a joy to her heart. Meanwhile her mother recovered that respectability of appearance

which habits such as those she had fallen into never fail to forfeit. Jane saw the hue of health restored to the bleached cheek, and the smile of contentment take place of the idiot stare of imbecility. Home was now the seat of comfort and of cheerfulness. The meals at which discord used formerly to preside, were now enlivened by the social spirit of family affection. We pity the heart that can doubt of Jane's being truly blessed in thus finding herself born to be a blessing!

E. H.

MARY WILSON.

MARY WILSON was the only child of an industrious cottager, who long resided on the estate of Sir Thomas Stewart, in the parish of F, in Scotland. While yet very young, most unfortunately for her, her father died, leaving the girl to the care of her mother, a weak but well-meaning woman, whose extreme fondness was very likely to be one day productive of evil consequences to both. John Wilson, the father, a prudent and religious person, was aware of this. On his death-bed, he called to his wife to come nearer, and said to her, in a tone of voice too low to make his words understood by any one else in the cottage, "My dear wife, there is an anxiety still clinging to my heart, which renders me loth to die, and embitters my last moments it is occasioned by your extravagant partiality towards our little daughter Mary. With all the imperfections of a positive temper, and indolent turn, she is faultless in your eyes: but mark well my words, and re

member them when I am gonê. If you con. tinue this blind indulgence, and thereby foster the serious defects of our child, you will not only render her unhappy through life, but lay up a hoard of misery, which may bring your own grey hairs with sorrow to the grave." The grieving mother promised faithfully to remember his admonitions, and to correct the faults of their child with all due care; but after poor John's death, while yet weeping, and enlarging to her neighbours on the many virtues of the deceased, she looked through her tears at Mary's beauty, and remarked that the only fault her husband could be accused of, was a propensity to anticipate misfortune, and to consider the darkest side of events at a distance.

The young girl certainly possessed a very pretty face and figure, of which she soon became exceedingly conscious; and being of a sprightly, careless disposition, she early began to think more of setting off her charms to the best advantage, than of helping her mother in her labours, or attending to the instructions of the parish school-master, who in vain attempted to teach her the first rudiments of grammar; but to a professor of a very different kind she became a much more apt pupil. A mounte

bank's Merry-Andrew, whom his master had dismissed from his service for divers thefts and peculations, bethought himself of opening a dancing-school in the parish of F-, and immediately found his academy crowded with all the idle young farmers, their giddy sisters, and the spoilt children around; in the last class, Mary Wilson made a very conspicuous figure. She was unceasing in her attendance and application, and quickly could not only cut a caper almost as high as her master, but acquired a number of his grimaces and airs, which she imagined to be prodigiously elegant, and a vast addition to the captivating powers of her beauty.

Her mother, who became fonder of her daily, encouraged instead of checking this folly. She would spend whole hours in telling Mary how handsome she was, and what excellent matches many girls of her acquaintance had made, with only one half of her beauty, "and who knows," quoth she, "but that Sir Thomas Stewart's son, the young laird, may take a fancy to you when he comes from school; and you are much of an age; and when I was chambermaid at the hall, I read a book about a country wench, one Pamela, or some such name, whose master fell in love with, and married her; to be sure she could read, write, and