as to what course they should adopt. The vicar left them soon after, and a long pause ensued before either of them spoke. They were evidently very much affected, for in spite of their foolish conduct towards their daughter, and the other faults of their dispositions, some of which must have been apparent to the reader, they loved their child, and had very frequently and intensely grieved over her sad fall.

"Mary," at last sobbed forth the father, we have done very wrong; we have indeed, as Mr. Clare says, been in a great measure the cause of all that has happened. I blame myself as much as I blame you; for although you have encouraged the girl at different times more than myself, yet it was my duty, as her father and your husband, to have interfered, and ordered things better. Poor thing! she is now, most likely, very miserable, and, as they tell us, may perhaps die. We must do all that we can; we must take her home again, and try to comfort her in her distress." Mrs. Sim

monds was much moved, and to her credit be it spoken, dismissed at once all the objections she had held as to taking her home, and assented to her husband's wish. It was therefore agreed upon, between them, that he should go to his neighbour James Strong, and request him to accompany him to Freethink's house, and assist in bringing Esther home. This, James was glad to do, and accordingly an arm-chair, with pillows and coverlet, was prepared, and taken by them. When they arrived at the house, they found Joseph Freethink in the shop, and told him for what purpose they were come. He said he had no objection to her going, in fact, that she seemed so ailing and unhappy where she that he thought it was better for her that she should go. The father said nothing,-his feelings were too full to speak; but he regarded Joseph with a look so full of anguish, that any heart less hard than his, must have been melted by it into something like sorrow for the misery he had caused. James Strong could scarcely be restrained from letting him know what he thought of

was,

him, but the old man had intreated him, before they came, to be quiet, and his promise to be so, withheld him. "You will find her up-stairs, if you like to go. She brought nothing with her, and, therefore, I suppose you can't expect that she should take any thing away with her"-was the next unfeeling remark made by this disciple of nature. They said nothing, but went up stairs, where, in the first room they came to, they saw, through the open door, poor Esther sitting, or rather propped up, in a chair by the fire-side. She was so much altered by grief and sickness that at first they scarcely knew her. Her cheek was pale and her eye sunken, and her whole appearance that of one who had arrived at the last stage of consumption.

At the sight of her father, whom she instantly recognized, the paleness of her cheek departed, and was replaced by a bright and hectic crimson; the tears gushed from her eyes, and she would have fallen from her seat, had not her father rushed forward and supported her in his arms. "O father," were her first words on recovery, "I'm so glad to see you; I never expected to see you again. I feel I am dying, but do not let me die in this place. O, I am a miserable being! take me away, father, for I shall die if I remain here." This scene was almost too much for her father; however, he tried to comfort her as well as he could, and told her that he and James

Strong were come to take her home. The preparations were soon made. They wrapped her up in the coverlet which they had brought for the purpose, placed her in the chair, and carried her down stairs.

When they came to the shop Joseph was not be seen, ---thinking, probably, that a parting might bring some reproaches upon him, which he was anxious to avoid, he had gone out of the way, that he might escape them. He was standing at the house of a friend, (if such men have friends?) on the opposite side of the street, when they came out, and, for one instant, Esther's eye caught his; that look was the last they ever exchanged on earth. Her father felt his arm, for an instant, clasped in a con

vulsive manner, and, as instantly, her hand fell back to her side. He looked in her face to see what was the matter; her eyes were closed- one long convulsive sob

followed

dead!

her head fell on his shoulder Esther was

CHAPTER V.

MORTAL! if e'er thy spirits faint,
By grief or pain opprest,

Seek not vain hope, or sour complaint,
To cheer, or ease thy breast;

But view thy bitterest pangs as sent,
A shadow of that doom,

Which is the soul's just punishment
In thy own guilt's true home.

Be thine own judge, hate thy proud heart;
And while the sad drops flow,

E'en let thy will attend the smart

And sanctify thy woe.

LYRA APOSTOLICA.

It was some time before Mr. Simmonds recovered the shock which he had received from the sudden and awful death of his daughter. He had many self-upbraidings on the subject, and felt that what Mr. Clare had lately told him and his wife was in reality true, viz. that they had been the cause, in a great measure, of all that had happened. All attempts to remedy what was past he knew were useless, and when he considered that her fate was now irrevocably fixed for ever, he grieved for her as one without hope, and fell into a depression of spirits, which nothing could remove. Upon his wife the shock was equally stunning, but the effects very different. She said that she had done all for her daughter that could be done; that Esther had brought it all upon herself; and that Mr. Clare had spoken in a very harsh and uncharitable way, when he laid any of the blame of what had

happened, at her parents' doors. John's heart was evidently softened-hers was hardened.

It was about three months after Esther's death that one of the neighbours went to Mr. Clare, and requested him to call and see Mrs. Simmonds, as she was in a very dangerous state of health, and not likely to live long. He was much surprised at this intelligence, as he had seen her but a short time before, apparently in good health. However, he did not doubt that it was true, and on the following day he called and found her dangerously ill. On his enquiring whether a medical man had been called in, he was answered in the affirmative, and that he gave but poor hopes of her recovery; her complaint he had pronounced to be a disease of the heart.

After some introductory conversation, Mr. Clare explained to her the reason which had brought him there. He had heard that she was ill, and had called to enquire whether she would wish to see a minister of the Church in her present condition. He did not wish to obtrude his services upon such as had left the Church; but as the clergyman of the parish, whenever he heard of sickness among his parishioners, he made it a rule to call, and state that he was ready to come and administer ghostly advice and consolation, if they were disposed to receive him. Mrs. Simmonds expressed herself much obliged to him for his kindness, and said that she should be very glad to see him whenever he should come.

"As a preliminary introduction to my present observations," remarked the vicar, "I must insist upon your promise that you will not call in a minister of any dissenting persuasion during my visits. The course of instruction, which I shall think it my duty to adopt, will necessarily be very different from that which such an one would pursue, and the doctrine and discipline I should enjoin would be such as he would not approve of; unless, therefore, you are prepared to promise this, it will be useless for me to come. Observe, I do not wish to obtrude myself upon you; I only wish to have a clear understanding between us. If you would rather have a dissenting

preacher to attend you in your illness, you can do so; you know my opinions upon such an act too well for me to make any further remarks upon that subject now. But if you wish to have me to come and visit you, it must be on the express understanding that I do not meet here, in your sick room, one whom, by the creeds of my Church, collected from the Bible, I am obliged to look upon as a schismatic." To all this Mrs. Simmonds assented. She said that she had lately changed from the Independents to the Methodists, and that as she was unknown to the preacher of the meeting-house to which she now went, he was not likely to call upon her; and if he did, she would not see him. With much patience then the vicar explained to her what in former days, when she attended church, she had often heard explained before; namely, that he came to her as one of CHRIST's ministers, to whom was committed a portion of CHRIST's flock; whose duty it was to "teach, and to premonish, to feed, and provide for the LORD's family; to seek for CHRIST's sheep that are dispersed abroad, and for His children who are in the midst of this naughty world, that they may be saved through CHRIST for ever;" and in pursuance of this object, that he was now desirous to assist her as much as he was able in the awful situation in which she was placed. "You have not been living, Mrs. Simmonds," observed the vicar, as you ought to have been living. You have not been dying daily to this world, and continually mortifying all evil and corrupt inclinations, and growing in virtue and holiness of life." Oh Sir," interrupted Mrs. Simmonds, "I have not perhaps done this, but I have faith-I know I have that—and that, I suppose will do." Alas!" observed the vicar, "I would not take from you all the comfort you indulge in; but let us enquire a little into your faith, and see, as far as we poor blind creatures can see, whether your faith is such as you declare it to be. And first, according to the directions of the Church, in her service for the Visitation of the Sick, I should wish to examine you on your belief in the articles of the Apostles' Creed," To this, Mrs. Simmonds agreed; she said

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