Immediately upon the reception of the above letter, Mr. Lovegood consulted Mr. Worthy how they had best act upon it. They not only had to lament the strange dark conceptions of Mr. Reader's mind, as it respected his knowledge of the Gospel, though in himself a well-intentioned man, but were very apprehensive of the effects it must have on Mrs. Chipman's feelings. They were both, however, of the same judgment, that the contents of the letter could not be kept back from her, whatever painful sensations might be created thereby.

They conceived also that a second interview similar to the former, would be more painful to her feelings, under this new circumstance of the dying situation of her husband. It was at length judged best that Mr. Lovegood should send her father's letter, for private perusal, together with another letter from himself, preparing her for its trying contents. This he wrote with much tenderness and discretion, begging her to prepare her mind, by prayer and resignation to God, to say on this event, "Thy will

be done."

Edward was accordingly sent for and directedhow to act, and afterwards to inform Mr. Lovegood and Mr. Worthy of the result. Edward wishing to have some one else in his house, on this occasion, requested Henry Littleworth would be there; who, though once such a profane and dissipated rake, was now the admiration of the neighbourhood, for the wisdom, and goodness, and purity of his life. He, with his sister Nancy, came down, therefore, from Gracehill Farm, that they might be there while Mr. Reader's letter was laid before his daughter: and, as the case of Mrs. Chipman was in some measure his own, he would naturally enter into her feelings with much tenderness and sympathy of mind.

The consequences of this interview will now

be presented to the reader, in the conversation which took place at Mr. Lovegood's where Henry and Edward went to report the result of this event.

Edw. Sir, Mr. Henry Littleworth and I are come to tell you how Mrs. Chipman received the letter. Loveg. Well, and how did the poor creature bear it ?

Edw. Why, Sir, at first, as you directed me, I gave her your letter. While she attempted to read it she wiped her eyes several times, admiring your tenderness to such a wretch, as she always calls herself. She then said, By the latter end of Mr. Lovegood's letter, I find you have another letter from my father; and, when I gave it her, she trembled like an aspen leaf. I then begged her to go up stairs and read it by herself. She had not been long there, before we heard her scream violently; my wife and I ran up, and found her in strong hyste

rics.

Loveg. I was afraid the letter would be too much for her. Her affections having been withdrawn from the worthless fellow who seduced her, since the blessed change, which, I trust, has really taken place upon her mind, it is no wonder, that they are strongly restored to their proper object: and the thoughts . his death by her misconduct, I know must be like a dagger to her heart.-But how long did she continue in that state?

Edw. I believe, Sir, it was full half an hour. We desired Mr. Henry and his sister would walk up, while my wife went down to bring somewhat for her refreshment, and when she seemed a little recovered, Mr. Henry went to prayer with her.

Loveg. (To Henry) Well, and how did her mind scem after prayer?

Hen. O, Sir, she sat the picture of misery and

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grief; calling herself, monster, murderer wretch, and the vilest sinner out of hell. Then I began to tell her, that she could not be worse than I was in my thoughtless days; but there was a precious word of promise given for me and for her, "This is a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief." "No," she directly cried, "I am chief, and I shall have the murder of my dear husband soon to answer for before the bar of God. O, how I abhor myself, how ashamed am I of this most polluted soul, and, if possible, still more polluted body before God." Thus she went on exclaiming against herself. O, Sir, what misery and mischief has sin brought into the world, and what a mercy, that God ever stopped me in my mad ways!

Loveg. Yes, Mr. Henry, none of us can be sufficiently thankful for the power of that divine grace, which saves from a thousand evils. But could you discover from Mrs. Chipman's conversation, what were her future designs?

Edw. Sir, she could hold no conversation with us whatever. I am afraid she will lose her senses, or her life.

Loveg. Let us hope for the best, Edward. We cannot be surprised at the strength of her feelings on receiving such tidings respecting her poor husband; the grace of God always restores tenderness to the mind. But this, for the present, makes it a more melancholy event; as almost whatsoever is said to her, can have no other tendency than to add to her grief; and, how to advise her, as to the steps she should take under present circumstances, is a most difficult task. Were she to accept of her father's invitation and return home, the sight of her dying husband might be the cause of her death also; for thousands of people have been killed by grief.

Hen. Ọ, Sir, when it first pleased God to awaken me to a sense of my sins, nothing so affected me as the thought, that my vile conduct might have sent my dear parents with broken hearts to the grave.

Edw. But, Sir, if you could come to our house, and say something, by way of comforting the poor creature, we should esteem it a great kindness. We really do not know what to do with her, and she pays great attention to what you say. Till the letter came, about her husband's illness, she began now and then to look a little cheerful; she took a deal of notice of what you said yesterday was se'nnight in your sermon, as how God could over-rule the wicked purposes of mankind to bring about the eternal good of themselves and others: though sin was not the less abominable on that account. I dare say, Sir, you remember what you said about Onesimus, who was permitted to rob his master, that he might be brought to the knowledge of the truth. She seemed to take a deal of notice of that observation.

Loveg. Well, Edward, if it be your wish, I shall have no objection. I have an hour to spare, and will go with you directly.

[Mr. Lovegood, Henry, and Edward, walk to the Golden Lion. On the road Edward observes:]

Edw. Sir, I believe I must lay aside public-house keeping. My wife and I think out of our little farm, (you know our squire is very moderate in his rents,) and by making a little malt, we can keep ourselves very well, especially since we buried our last poor little girl; we have but three children now left.

Loveg. Ono, Edward, by no means; for, as soon as you give over, some one else will be starting up, especially as the turnpike road lies through our village, and then it is probable that nothing but riot and drunkenness will be brought into our parish, and one public-house is quite enough for this place.

Edw. Why, Sir, did you not hear what a riot we were likely to have had at our house, last Tuesday evening, from a set of drovers that came along this way?

Loveg. No, not I.-I never hear of riots at your house.

Edw. Why, Sir, after I had put their beasts into the field, they came into the house, and began cursing and swearing; and as I thought it might answer best to speak to them with as much good temper as I could, as generally that goes furthest with such sort of people, I told them, that our's was a very regular house; and that for the sake of good order, I thought it best, that we should all swear by turns, and that it was my turn to swear next: and thus we should all prove, one by one, where was the good of it, and what advantage comes by it; therefore, for the sake of good manners, I begged they would stop till after they had heard me swear. One of them having cast his eyes on what I had painted in large letters over the mantle piece, SWEAR NOT AT ALL, directly said, with a great oath, that he should burst if he was kept from swearing at that rate. I then told them, I would do any thing in reason to oblige them, if they would but oblige me; and that made them quiet for a while.

Loveg. Well, if that was the case, your end was answered, and who knows what may be the future good effects of such a testimony against their profane conversation.

Edw. But, Sir, it did not end here; for, it seems, they had been laying wagers as they came along the road, and they had engaged to spend it in drink before they went to bed; and when I told them they could have no more liquor in my house than what was really good for them; for I had not suf fered a person to get drunk within my doors for