hatred of holy things, as that you do not choose to enter the house of the Lord; nor that the ordinances of religion are actually painful to you, but that they give you a painful longing to enjoy them, and a feeling of envy for those who do so. I am rather glad to hear you say that, it is more satisfactory to one who would willingly see you as happy as God would wish you to be-that if you really cannot find pleasure in serving Him, you have at least the grace to be sorry for it."

4

"It is no use to be sorry for it," replied Ernest, "it is my nature. I used to regret it when I was a boy in Westmoreland, and listen to you, telling me of these things in those long evening conversations we used to have together, when my poor mother.” His voice quivered even then, though it was twenty years since he had lost her. "It was too late then, and it is too late now. I have felt it when listening to the sublime music in foreign cathedrals, my whole soul has been carried up, as it were, on a strain of rapture to find-nothing; no Being to receive the fervent homage and adoration I could give Him—or were there such a Being-my enemy."

"Are you an Atheist, Ernest, or a Mystic?"

"Neither," was the reply; "I sought for annihilation, the hope of the Atheist, and found the idea too dreadful! To live no longer! never again to be !— can you conceive it, Mr. Donne? I cannot !—it is madness!—it is intolerable agony to me to think

of it! And the Mystics soared beyond me! yet their theory-oh! would it could have been carried out— was most sublime!"

"Sublime! and so is every religious theory, whatever it may be, if but hallowed by sincerity, however erroneous, the Object towards which all are directed sheds the light of consecration upon all; but there is more enthusiasm in their doctrine than in most others—they think passionate, romantic love, to the ideal Providence, all that is necessary. They do not sufficiently examine themselves whether this adoration be really the effects of repentance, obedience and faith, or merely the admiration of an Idol, which they have set up in their own hearts, and bow in sinful ignorance before-under the name of Deity. Their sins are forgotten, so also is their Redeemer. And Atheism, as you truly say, is " a living death;" for like death it benumbs all our faculties, and causes life, even in its loveliest hours, to be overshadowed by its end. Yet, since God has, in His mercy, preserved you from these extremes, may we not hope it is to give you an opportunity of learning His own pure religion, and in common gratitude, Ernest, for this, and all His other mercies, the occasions for doing so ought not to be neglected."

"I have studied," replied Ernest, hurriedly, "I have read, and thought much upon theological subjects, and in the controversies of the present day I

have taken my place, and have tried to understand my part in the stern policy of sectarianism."

"I cannot stay to discuss controversial questions with the church bells ringing in my ears," replied Mr. Donne; "I think it, as is said by a high authority of the present day- unprofitable.' It is for the Head of the Church to decide difficult questions and to regulate laws; our duty is to obey You cannot say you have been applying to a right source; you cannot assert that you have sought the peace which passeth all understanding-unless you would also say that the words,' Seek, and ye shall find,' contain a promise which may be, and is, violated at pleasure by Him Whose word is the one standard of Truth. Come with me to-day and make some effort at gaining what in heart you desire; do not content yourself any longer with being almost a christian,' but come to Him who is ready and willing to receive you and to guide you by His grace till you become a perfect one."

"I cannot!" replied Ernest, mournfully; "I cannot!-oh! I cannot! If I could have been saved, you would have led me to the threshold of the sanctuary years ago. But it is now too late." "And you used to say it was too late then; and yet, Ernest, does it not seem as if when your heart was younger you might have repented easily of the sins it was in the power of youth to commit? then, if that be the case, mark my words. As you

your peace with Heaven, and mourn that it has passed for ever, unimproved, so in old age you will look back upon manhood and weep sore for its neglected opportunities; unless indeed your heart hardens with years; but even in that sad condition, the outcast who has drawn upon himself the condemnation of being given over to a reprobate mind, has moments of bitter anguish when he looks back upon a wasted life. How, then, will this retrospect be borne in Eternity? Remember! there, is repentance, deep and terrible! but there, it is unavailing!"

There was a long pause, and sweetly came the sound of the village church bells, through the frosty air, mingled with the distant notes of the assembling choir, as they tried over a few lines of the Advent hymn.

"You will not join me, Ernest?" said Mr. Donne as he rose to depart-"It is the season in which the Church commemorates the visitation of her Lord. May he find your heart in the time of this mortal life, waiting and willing to receive him!-Do come with us?"

"I cannot-I cannot; was the stern replybut Mr. Donne, think of me when you pray for those who have erred, and have been deceived."

CHAPTER XXX.

FLORENCE.

FLORENCE Storley continued very ill. Surrounded by every comfort and luxury which the hand of affection could lavish, neither her mental nor her bodily health seemed to improve. Much she dreaded, and much did they dread for her, the fast approaching hour which should make her a mother. It passed, and she survived. She had almost hoped to die then; yet, when she looked down upon the face of the little girl now given her she felt, if not a pleasure, it was, at least, a duty, to try and get better for its sake-to bring it up, as she said to herself--to a happier and better life than hers had been. Poor lady! the child, had it been left to her guidance, might not have escaped dangers resulting from a totally different scheme of education, pursued with too great vehemence.

She had been down stairs some time, and received many visitors, and the little "Floy" had been unusually