salvation, seemed, for a time, wholly to overpower her; and, clasping her hands, and raising her eyes and heart far above the dazzling peaks of the snowy region now before her, she poured forth her whole soul in one ardent prayer; by which her strength was renewed as the eagle's. She now descended the heights with hasty steps, nor delayed a moment till she had reached the chateau, her father's chamber, and the side of the bed, from which he had not yet risen; and there casting herself on her knees, My father!" she exclaimed, "forgive, forgive your unhappy child. I have offended, I have incurred your just displeasure; but I will not rise till you pronounce my forgiveness."

The tears and deep penitence of his daughter were not to be resisted by the major; who had begun to feel himself very uncomfortable in her absence, repenting of his harshness towards her. He therefore hesitated not, but extended his arms to her, and received her, weeping, to his bosom.

When the first moment of powerful sensation was over, and the major had recovered his wonted manner, Emily saw, with grief, that he appeared more unwell than she had seen him before. He complained of his foot, and said, Emily, I have wanted you to rub my poor leg; your soft hand always eases me.'

"I know I have behaved very ill, my dear father," she answered; "but, if you will think no more of the past, I will try, with God's blessing, to behave better in future."

"Try, with God's blessing!" said the major, smiling. "Why, you can behave well, and stay at home, if you will, can't you, you little fool?" and he tapped her cheek as she stooped over his gouty leg.

I am not quite sure that I can stay at home, or do any thing right, without help," replied Emily, smiling; "for I think I have proved my insufficiency already; as I certainly never purposed to do any thing to displease you, my dear parent, and yet I have done it."

"Well, well," said the major," only be a good girl, and rub my leg gently; for I am quite sick of that Wietlesbach. The fellow took so much upon him, and made so many grimaces, when I was left to his care, that I was ready to knock him down every instant. And I hope, as you

say, that you will be helped to stay more with me; and then I shall not be so dependent on him."

"Dear father," replied Emily," you shall not be dependent on him any longer; but you must not laugh at me when I speak of my own helplessness and want of power to do well, because it troubles me."

"Well, I won't then," said the major, in something of the tone which a person uses to a petted child.

Before more could be expressed, the valet came capering into the room, bringing a highly-seasoned ragout on a salver, with other appurtenances, for his master's dinner. On seeing Emily, he started; but, recovering himself with a bow, into which he endeavoured to throw a kind of congratulatory expression on her return to favour, he set the salver before his master, and, retreating a few steps," Acknowledge, Monsieur," he said, "that I have well done. There is a dish fit to set before the king himself. I have had difficulty to prevent myself from devouring it, as I conveyed it from the kitchen."

The major was in high good-humour, owing to the presence of his daughter, and the scent of the ragout by no means diminished his pleasure. He laughed heartily at his valet's grimaces, and promised him the licking of the dish for his supper; "that is," added he, " if I have not occasion to break your pate, for some dog's trick, before that time."

Monsieur Wietlesbach always had an answer ready, conformable to the temper of his master, for he had found it his interest to please him; and the witticisms of the master, and the repartees of the valet, passed and repassed so quickly, while the former was taking his meal, that Emily neither found opportunity, nor inclination, to meddle in the discourse; and she then plainly perceived, that it ought to be her first endeavour to withdraw her father from this society, which, to say the least, was injurious to the major, and to herself extremely irksome.

Emily was enabled to persevere in her attentions to her father for several days, and was by this means thoroughly restored to his affection and favour; yet, during all this time, though she found one or two opportunities of visiting Madame Vauvrier, and fortifying her own mind by her advice and pious discourse, and by joining with her in

prayer, she could not find strength to introduce any discourse decidedly serious in her father's hearing. Nevertheless, Providence was not unmindful of her; and what she could not effect herself was done for her, and in a very remarkable manner.

The reconciliation between Emily and her father had not taken place many days, before the gout, which had long been moving about him, took possession of his stomach. The remedies which were used to expel it thence were very violent, and he fell into a state of weakness in consequence; during which, he was, for a time, either wholly delirious or childish, requiring attention night and day. Emily then ventured, from her own judgment to ask Madame Vauvrier's assistance. The excellent old lady was never backward in a work of mercy; accordingly, on receiving the invitation of Emily, she soon arrived, in her best blue petticoat, her newest silk apron, and her whitest

cap.

It was an inexpressible delight to Emily to see this pious person seated by the pillow of her father's bed; and, though he at first was unconscious of her presence, she hoped for the happiest effects by having this eminent Christian so nearly associated with her infidel parent. In addition to her consolation on this occasion, Monsieur Wietlesbach was incapacitated from attending by a sprained ankle, occasioned, as he said, by running down stairs in haste, to execute some order of his master. But, be this as it may, Emily saw in this affair the wisdom of Providence, and received it as a token for good.

While Major Muller was in that state of weakness which scarcely allowed him to distinguish one person from another, his venerable nurse found means to make her services so acceptable to him, that as he became more sensible of her presence, he would not be satisfied unless she was constantly with him, and could hardly be prevailed upon to allow her the rest which was absolutely necessary for one of her advanced age. After awhile, he became desirous of knowing her history-whence she came, and how she, as a poor peasant, was able to speak with such propriety, and conduct herself with such decorum; and, when informed on these points, he seemed to take more pleasure in conversing with her. And thus a way was VOL. VII. F

opened for all she wished to say on the most important subjects; and, no doubt, much was said at this time by the pious and wise old lady, which had a happy influence on the future life and opinions of the major.

The illness of Major Muller was protracted, by divine providence, for a long time; and thus many opportunities afforded to Madame Vauvrier for saying all she desired to say. As the sick man obtained strength, and his fears of death were somewhat removed, he began to argue with Madame Vauvrier and to controvert her principles; but she, who had been the daughter and wife of pious and learned men was not to be baffled by his infidel arguments, as poor Mrs. Courtney had been. She had been accustomed to hear the quibbles of such men, and knew how they should be answered. Mr. Muller soon discovered, that in this humble and obscure woman, he had found such a champion for Christianity as he had never before encountered. He also soon discovered, that he was no more a match for her in wit than in argument; for, though she never aimed at a bon mot, she possessed that kind of plain sense and quick discernment of the truth, as enabled her instantly to detect and expose the fallacy of every forced jest; while it showed him at once that true wit and wisdom were never apart.

The residence of Madame Vauvrier at the chateau was protracted till the approach of the winter months, and we do not hesitate to say, that Emily was benefited, in no small degree, by the society and example of this truly pious woman. From her she learned how to conduct herself with tenderness and address in a sick chamber; in her she saw the loveliest pattern of female gentleness and patience; and so well was she enabled to profit by this example, that when Madame Vauvrier, from a failure of her health, was obliged to return home, Emily took her place by the major, and performed the part of nurse, not only with mildness, but with skill.

It was on the approach of this second winter, that the major first left his chamber, and descended into his library; and it was on this occasion that all the address of Emily was necessary to prevent him from returning to that practice of injurious reading, which, from habit, was become almost necessary to him.

Since his recovery, and since his intimacy with his valet

had somewhat diminished, Emily perceived that he became more reserved, and apparently thoughtful, but what were the subjects of his meditations no one could tell. He appeared also, since his illness, considerably more advanced in years, and seemed to experience much of that languor which accompanies old age; especially those who are naturally dull, or who have lived freely, which had been the case with the major. However, his manner towards Emily was affectionate, and he received her endeavours to please him with thankfulness.

And now this amiable daughter, being recovered from her errors, by the divine blessing on the instructions of Madame Vauvrier, had a thousand little contrivances to amuse her infirm parent. She played to him on the harp; she engaged him to teach her the game of chess; she talked to him, described her walks, brought him specimens of fossils and stones, and tried to interest him in the study of history. At length she brought out her Bible, and asked permission to read it to him. He started at this request, and gave some reply expressive of disgust. Emily looked at him, not with anger, but with sorrow. She had hoped he would have heard her, at least, with patience; and she was so much affected at this disappointment, that she burst into tears, and went out of the room; but returned, some moments afterwards, with a composed, though sorrowful, countenance. While she was taking her usual seat, her father looked at her with affection, and said, "Well, if I am to hear this book, the sooner we begin the better."

Emily smiled, and it was such a smile as illumined every feature, and diffused a grace over her youthful countenance. It was impossible for a father to look on such a child without delight. The major's eyes were fixed upon her. "Come nearer, child," he said; "draw yourself closer to me; my illness has affected my hearing. Be seated in this chair by my side, and begin your lec

ture."

Emily sat down. She opened the book, on the first page of which was written her mother's name. The major saw the writing; but, not suspecting what it was, laid his hand on the volume, saying " What have you there?" and at the same moment read these words, written by his wife, <Emily Courtney, aged eight years ;" and underneath, in