every word, at first with wonder, then with admiration, and finally with deep delight; and at the concluding verses, Who shall separate us from the love of God,' I could scarcely refrain from expressing my joy and surprise. A prayer followed, not such as I had been accustomed to hear at evening prayers; a mere form, rapidly repeated in the Latin language; but the genuine expression of fervent petitions to God for blessings, both spiritual and temporal, entreated through the merits of Jesus Christ our only Saviour, and concluding with the Lord's Prayer, and the apostolic blessing, all in English, and uttered in a tone of deep and earnest devotion. I rose from my knees, scarcely knowing what to think I believe that I prayed then for the first time in my life; for I really felt that I needed Divine guidance, and the words of the prayer forcibly expressed this want, and besought the aid of the Holy Spirit ; and I felt impelled to join in these petitions, not only in word but in heart also.

"We returned to the drawing-room, and for a few minutes no one spoke. At length Kate broke the silence, by inquiring at what time we retired in the convent? this led to a long conversation about monastic rules, and presently my aunt said, Sophia, my love, tell me truly, do you love the mode of life which you have hitherto practised, better than have seen?' any other you

"I coloured deeply, and answered, 'Indeed, aunt, I have seen but little, out of the convent; I can hardly tell; I will think about it; I intended to talk with you on this subject before my departure from hence.'

"I saw Kate's open countenance glow with pleasure, as I said this, and Clara forgot her shyness, and exclaimed, Oh! Sophia, if you do not like your convent-life, stay always with us.'

"I made no answer, and soon the subject appeared to be dropped; but I was anxious to ask about the prayers, so different, and, it seemed to me, so preferable to all which I had ever heard before; and after a pause, I said,

"Aunt, I never heard before those prayers that you used to-night. Are they Roman Catholic prayers?'

"They are Catholic prayers, dear Sophia,' replied Aunt Catharine, but they are not Romish prayers. I have long since ceased to use such. I am no longer a Roman Catholic; it is some years since I

became a Protestant.'

"I was electrified! I knew that my uncle, my father's only brother, had abjured the errors of Popery very soon after his marriage; but I

had always heard his wife spoken of as a devoted Romanist. At that moment it occurred to me, that I had either heard or dreamed that Kate and Clara were brought up Protestants, according to their father's dying instructions. I was shocked, nay, more! I was grieved, when I heard my aunt thus calmly proclaim her apostacy; for, although I had begun to demur as to the perfect happiness enjoyed by the religieuses, I had not a doubt on the verity of that doctrine which excluded from salvation all who are not within the pale of the Roman Catholic Church.

6

“My aunt and cousins saw that I looked pained; and the former said, You are tired to-night, dear Sophia; you had better go to rest now, and to-mori ow we will talk again on this interesting subject;' and she kindly wished me good-night, while Kate went with me to my chamber, to see if everything were provided for my comfort.

"Clara and you are Protestants? is it not so?' I asked.

"Yes, we are both Protestants, we have always been so ;' replied but you will not love us the less for that, will you, dear

Kate;
Sophia ?'

666

Oh, no,' I answered, energetically, for I felt already that it would be totally impossible for any one to live with Kate and her mamma, and not love them. Of Clara I did not know so much, but I could not help admiring her lovely face, and comparing it to the fresh-glowing roses which mantled the verandah. Kate left me after kissing me affectionately, and I was alone.

"The first thing I thought of, was the chapter I had heard read: seeing a Bible on the table, I took it up, and, after much searching, I found the part I wanted; three times I read it through, every word; and surely, He, whose blessed Word I held in my hand, caused the eyes of my understanding to be opened, so that the Scriptures became indeed a lamp unto my hitherto erring feet, and a light on my dreary path. I prayed that I might understand what I read; and though I did not omit my customary formula, yet, when I lay down on my bed, I once more recurred to all that I had heard; and again and again I entreated the Lord earnestly, that I might be taught by His Holy Spirit to comprehend these things. It was to me a new, but an intensely happy feeling, to ask for advice and comfort from the Great Omnipotent God; and feel assured that all that was humbly asked through Christ, would be given; and while I was thus musing I fell asleep."

(To be continued.)

A TALE OF THE OLD YEAR.

ONCE on a dark and wintry night,

When the Christmas fire was sparkling bright,
And the old year lay a dying;

A few who had danced to his birthday chime,
And recklessly play'd in his vernal prime,
Nor thought in his autumn and wintry time,
How quickly the hours were flying,

Were musing at length in more serious mood,
Akin to the calm of the wise and good,

But a sadness was stealing o'er them;
For they thought of their much neglected guest,
Who was passing away from among them in haste,
And a record would bear of the fruitless past,
To the unseen world before them.

Yes! the sands of his glass were nearly run,

Though it seem'd but a day since his course begun;
And conscience was whispering loud;

But a gentler voice seem'd to summon them all
To attend to THE OLD YEAR's parting call,
Before they should follow his funeral pall,
His dark and oblivious shroud.

They found him in calmness reclining alone,
For his work was o'er, and his task was done,
But a book was open before him;

And his keen gaze pass'd o'er the downcast eyes,
And the blushing cheeks, with a sad surprise
At those who refused to be timely wise,

And seem'd by their looks to implore him,

That the volume whose pages were closely written
With truths which they felt in their conscience smitten,
Might ever remain unread;

Yet the hoary sage, with a brow benign,
But purpose unwav`ring, read line by line,
Till each one felt-'tis mine-'tis mine-

The record before him spread.

Nor there was the crowded page alone,
Darken'd with deeds of folly done,

Or crimes of unseen commission;

Others there were whose blank emptiness show'd
Opportunities wasted of doing good,
Or barren resolves that unfruitfully stood
In witness of sins of omission.

Oh! then did the heart of the proud one fail,
And the cheek of the thoughtless begin to pale,
And the tear of contrition to flow;

For the deeds they had reckon'd on virtue's side,
The good upon which their hopes had relied,
In the balance of truth had been sternly tried,
And left to them sadness and woe.

But the book was closed, and the time drew near
For the knell of the fast-departing year,

And the birth of his young successor:
Yet with the last words of their aged friend
The accents of mercy did sweetly blend,

To bind up the wounds that too sorely might rend
The heart of each trembling transgressor.

"I am passing away to return no more,
For days that are gone can no mortal restore,
Nor proffer their treasures again;

Yet forgiveness through Christ, may blot from the page,
The follies and sins that its record engage,

And mercy the grief of the contrite assuage,
When pardon hath loosen'd his chain.

"But yet when ye greet a new year on the morrow, Forget not the shades of remorse and of sorrow, That have clouded your parting with me;

When hope in the gales of the spring-time shall breathe, And summer its garlands with gladness shall wreathe,

Oh say that the lessons of truth I bequeath,

No fruitless memorial may be."

E. M. B.

AGLANCE AT HARROW.

BY MRS. RILEY.

o a contemplative mind, a school must always afford interest; for what is Education? Is it not the development and right direction of the various faculties and dispositions which the Almighty has implanted in the human soul? Is it not such a discipline of the mind and heart, as will render those faculties and dispositions sources of happiness, not only to their individual possessor, but to all around him? Is it not, in fact, the process, commencing with the dawn of reason, and carried on through the whole of our subsequent existence, by which experience teaches truth? If these be the objects of education, a school in which its first elements are infused into the mind, in which habits of application, and industry, and self-government, are acquired or strengthened, must always be an interesting scene. Ay; even the humblest school, even the village dame-school, is still rife with interest; for even in such a school, there are groups of chubby faces, some bright with intelligence, others heavy with dullness, but all exhibiting individual characteristics which future years will bring into active exercise. Those boys will grow into manhood, and even during their progress thitherward, they will exercise powers for good or evil; they will either become dutiful sons, kind brothers, obedient servants, or they will prove the source of sorrow to parents, and discomfort to families. And when they become men, and their sphere of influence is extended, the effect of right or wrong principles will be made more apparent. Some will become the honest yeomen of England, whose cottage-hearths are the centre of domestic happiness, and others will be found amongst the ranks of the idlers by day, and the poachers by night; at first, the frequenters of the village-alehouse, and in time the inmates of the parish union workhouse.

If we ascend in the scale of society, we find the private school, where the tenderly-nurtured boy is sent to encounter the first trials of social life, to learn its lessons of patience, fortitude, and self-command; and to learn, what he has never yet known, his true level. Here again, time