the past. The struggle which she maintained with her heart was so secret, that none suspected its violence; she never To any one upon her cruel lot spoke You would have deem'd that he had been forgot, As the Evelyns were about to take a journey into Devonshire to spend a few months in a circle of endeared and happy friends, Mrs. Wilmington yielded to their solicitations, that her daughter might accompany them, hoping, that change of scene would enliven her spirits, and give once more, the bloom of health to her languid countenance. In this pleasing anticipation, however, she was disappointed. The malady was in the heart, and was inveterate. Mr. Evelyn, alarmed at the rapidly increasing symptoms of a disorder which baffled all medical skill, returned with her to Hampshire, and learning that Mrs. Wilmington was in the Isle of Wight, he crossed over from Beaulieu with the invalid to place her under the tender and judicious care of her mother. It was at this interesting period, that Louisa Delaval was introduced to Julia, and having learnt her affecting story, she felt, towards her, all the fondness of sisterly affection. Her delicate and unwearied attentions won upon the lovely sufferer, and the attachment soon became reciprocal. Mr. Evelyn, venerable in wisdom-Mrs. Wilmington, heroic in suffering-and Julia, young and fair, breathing the pure spirit of devotion, and shedding its divine glories around her fading loveliness, filled the imagination, and powerfully impressed the heart of Louisa. They presented a scene, at once awful and attractive. To live and die with beings so illustrious in virtue, and whose sublime destiny was written on their characters, was the first wish of her heart. But, the contrast between herself and them appeared to be so great, that she felt the indulgence of such a wish to be the highest presumption. Yet she admired, she loved their excellencies. 6. If there be a paradise on earth," she exclaimed, "it is here. Yes! these individuals, chastened by affliction, and in the hallowed seclusion from the world, which genuine religion prefers, are indeed to be envied. Their sufferings are severe; yet are they light, and but for a moment, and their mysterious dispensation of trial is conducting them to "an eternal weight of glory." Like their divine Master, they are rising to their Father's throne by the rugged and steep ascent of sorrow. Here Christianity proves itself divine. As the radiant beauty of an angel proclaims his celestial origin, so religion, in thus forming and elevating the human character, bears its own evidence, and is a constant witness for itself. I can doubt no more." It is thus, in truth, that practical Christianity, the Christianity not of forms and creeds, but of character, usually subdues all prejudice, and silences all cavils. Thus it tramples on the mightiest opposition; and were it uniformly VOL. H. 1 * presented to mankind thus unsullied in its supreme and beatifying glory, it would captivate all hearts. Alas! the inconsistencies, the worldliness, and the hypocrisy of Christians, have rendered written argumentative treatises to establish the truth of the Gospel necessary; and incontrovertible as these treatises are, they fail to convince, because the all persuading evidence of a devout and holy life in the members of the Christian church is asked for in vain. This alone would more than satisfy the most captious infidelity; and this withheld, credulity itself begins to doubt and to dispute. How Miss Delaval was affected by the trying, yet glorious scenes, she was called to witness in the family of Mrs. Wilmington, will appear from the following letters addressed to Emily, with whom she had continued to correspond after her marriage, and of whose harsh and cruel treatment by her worthless husband she had frequently heard from their mutual friends, though Mrs. Dormer had never directly adverted to the subject, and had given no indication of being unhappy, except that she wrote with less vivacity, and in a style of unusual seriousness. A fact, however, of grievous notoriety, having transpired, Emily could no longer refrain, but poured her sorrows into the bosom of her sympathising friend. She was constrained to admit, that Dormer had been wounded in a duel occasioned by the exposure of an intrigue, accompanied with circumstances of peculiar baseness. To this communication Louisa immediately replied in the following terms : LOUISA TO MRS. DORMER. 66 MY DEAREST EMILY, "To me there is something peculiarly affecting in your sorrow. No common calamity could have depressed your spirits. The tone of sadness, so foreign to your nature, which pervades your recent letters, convinces me that you must have been the object of systematic injustice and cruelty. Alas! that so much baseness should lurk under so much gaiety, and that an apparent good temper should be the veil to cover so much detestable wickedness. I am more than ever of opinion, that fashionable profligacy has no redeeming qualities; that it is a moral pest, which blights and withers whatever it touches, and taints the very atmosphere in which it breathes; and I grieve, my dearest friend, that it has so soon poisoned all your comfort. It is in vain to regret the past; but while the gay and thoughtless were fatiguing you with heartless congratulations on your marriage, I wept in secret. Even Sir George, who is very lenient towards the vices of his own sex, expressed his deep sorrow, that you were united for life to one who could never love you, and who sooner or later would certainly sacrifice your happiness. Unwilling, however, to forebode the worst, I suffered my imagination to dwell on your beauty, the sweetness of your disposition, and the indescribable charm of your manners. These I was anxious to believe would reclaim even Dormer. How have I been mistaken! An angel cannot win a profligate back to virtue. The most lovely of our sex seem doomed to be the victims of the most depraved of the other. We are all too credulous, too unsuspicious. Fatal snares surround our feet from the first moment that we enter upon the world, and we are unconscious of danger. Too frequently we are even accessary to the ruin which threatens us. We prefer a fine person to fine principles, and are captivated by what is agreeable rather than by what is good. Elegant accomplishments, set off with unhesitating assurance, will win the heart that genuine worth, diffident and distant, would give the world to gain. Those who will act the part of lovers, are far more successful than those whose characters they affect to personate. We judge by appearance only, and are therefore betrayed. When to beauty of person is added an indefinite number of golden charms, our perils are increased in exact proportion with the ideas generally entertained of our wealth. And if a reference to Doctors' Commons by some dying swain confirms these ideas, and renders the speculation a good one, the siege is carried on by stratagem or force, till the citadel yields, and the spoils are taken. "Poor frail, confiding woman, seems destined to be the sport of caprice, or the victim of credulity. Before marriage we are idols, and afterwards we are miserable slaves. It is high time that we should begin to assert the prerogatives of human nature; and as the institutions of religion and society are favourable to our independence, we ought to be no longer the dupes of villainy, or the creatures of passion. The |