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ON THE DEATH OF ANN.

" My opinions on some fubjects are not wavering; my pursuit through life has ever been the same: in folia tude were my sentiments formed; they are indelible, and nothing can efface them but death.—No, death itself cannot efface them, or my soul must be created afresh, and not improved. Yet a little while am I parted from my Ann-I could not exist without the hope of seeing her again, I could not bear to think that time could wear away an affection that was founded on what is not liable to perish; you might as well attempt to persuade me that my soul is matter, and that its feelings arose from certain modifications of it." « Dear enthusiastic creature,'

,” whispered Henry, “ how you steal into my soul.”. She itill continued. 56 The same turn of mind which leads me to adore the Author of all Perfection which leads me to conclude that he only can fill my soul ; forces me to admire the faint image--the shadows of his attributes here below; and my imagination gives still bolder strokes to them.

know I am in some degree under the influence of a delusion-but does not this strong delusion prove that I myself “ am of subtiler elence than the trodden clod :" these flights of the imagination point to futurity ; I cannot banish them. Every cause in nature produces an effect; and am I an exception to the general rule? Have I desires implanted in me only to make me miferable ? will they never be gratified shall I never be happy ? My feelings do not accord with the 'notion of solitary happiness. In a state of bliss, it will be the fociety of beings we can love, without the alloy that earthly infirınities mix with our best affections, that will conititute great part of our happiness.

“ With these notions can I conform to the maxims of worldly wisdom? Can I listen to the cold di&tates of worldly prudence, and bid my tumultuous paflions ccale to vex me, be fill, find content in grovelling pursuits,

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God Omnipotent reigned, and would remain for ever, and ever! - Why then did the fear the sorrows that 'were passing away, when she knew that He would bind up the broken hearted, and receive those who came out of great tribulation. She retired to her cabin ; and wrote in the little book that was now her only confident. It was after midnight.

“ At this foleinn hour, the great day of judgment fills my thoughts; the day of retribution, when the sea crets of all hearts will be revealed; when all worldly diftin&tions will fade away, and be no more seen. I have not words to express the fublime images which the bare contemplation of this awful day raises in my mind. Then, indeed, the Lord Omnipotent will reign, and He will wipe the tearful eye, and support the trembling heart-yet a little while He hideth his face, and the dun shades of sorrow, and the thick clouds of folly, separate and the us from our God; but when the glad dawn of an eternal day breaks, we shall know eyen as we are known, Here we walk by faith, and not by sight; and we have this alternative, either to enjoy the pleasures of life, which are but for a season, or look forward to the prize of our high calling, and with fortitude, and that wis. dom which is from above, endeavour to bear the war. fare of life. We know that many run the race ; but he that striveth obtaineth the crown of victory. Our race is an arduous one! How many are betrayed by 'traitors lodged in their own breasts, who wear the garb of Virtue, and are so near akin ; we figh to think they should ever lead into folly, and Nide imperceptibly into vice, Surely any thing like happiness is madness! Shall probationers of an hour presume to pluck the fruit of im. mortality, before they have conquered death? it is guarded; when the great day, to which I allude, ar. rives, the way will again be opened. Ye dear delufions, gay deceits, farewel! and yet I cannot banish ye for ever; still does my panting foul push forward, and live in futurity, in the deep shades o'er which darkness

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hangs. I try to pierce the gloom, and find a refting, place, where my thirst of knowledge will be gratified, and my ardent affections find an object to fix them. Every thing material must change ; happiness and this Auctuating principle is not compatible." Eternity, immateriality, and happiness,—what are ye? How thall I grasp the mighty and fileeting conceptions ye create ?"

After writing, serenely, the delivered her soul into the hands of the Father of Spirits; and slept in peace.

SENSIBILITY. Sensibility is the most exquisite feeling of which the human soul is susceptible : when it pervades us, we feel happy; and could it last unmixed, we might form fome conjecture of the bliss of those paradifical days, when the obedient passions were under the dominion of reason, and the impulses of the heart did not need correction.

It is this quickness, this delicacy of feeling, which enables us to relish the sublime touches of the poet, and the painter; it is this, which expands the soul, gives an enthusiastic greatness, mixed with tenderness, when we view the magnificent objects of nature; or hear of a good action. The same effect we experience in the spring, when we hail the the returning fun, and the consequent renovation of nature ; when the flowers unfold them, felves, and exhale their sweets, and the voice of music is heard in the land. Softened by tenderness; the soul is disposed to be virtuous. Is any sensual gratification to be compared to that of feeling the eyes moistened af. ter having comforted the unfortunate ?

Sensibility is indeed the foundation of all our happi. ness; but these raptures are unknown to the depraved sensualist, who is only moved by what strikes his gross senses; the delicate embellishments of nature escape his notice; as do the gentle and interesting affections. But it is only to be felt; it escapes discussion. (To be continued.)

THE THE CASTLE ON THE ROCK.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE MONTHLY VISITOR.

SIR,

I

WAS much surprized to find, in your excellent Ma

on the Rock,” did not meet with your approbation. It seemed to me, upon perusal, a valuable performance, and very far superior to most of the novels with which the public are now deluged.

I have just received a letter from a sensible and judia cious friend, whose sentiments respecting The Castle on the Rockso entirely coincide with my own, that I shall transcribe his words :-" I have been just reading “ The Castle on the Rock.” I am quite suprized at the various kinds of excellence which this work manifests. The plot seems to me to be well laid, and the characters, upon the whole, prettily grouped and contrasted. The brothers especially, are an excellent pair of portraits. The conversations are supported with considerable spirit; and the few descriptions which are introduced, are well drawn. A critic will undoubtedly detect some faults in the language ; but these (many of them at least) are chargeable to a careless correction of the manuscript. Upon the whole, the promise is great: and should the mind of its authoress be ever rendered more at ease, from an improvement of her circumstances, I have no doubt but that she would amuse and inftruet the world, by fome more finished works.'

This is the critique (in which I thoroughly acquiesce) of a very competent judge ; who himself sustained with reputation the province of a Reviewer for some time; but who, from his bad state of health, was obliged to decline it, together with other engagements, and retire into the country. Let the reader, however, of “ The Castle of the Rock;" form his own judgment.

I am, Sir,

Your's respectfully,

ܪ

CANDIDUS.

THE WOODEN LEG:

AN HELVETIC TALE.

N the mountain from whence the torrent of Runti

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his goats. His pipe called echo gaily from the hollow rocks, and echo bid the vallies seven times refound his songs melodious. On a sudden he perceived a man climbing with pain the mountain's edge. The man was old; years had blanched his head. A staff bent beneath his heavy tottering steps, for he had a wooden leg. He approached the young man, and seated himself by him on the moss of the rock. The young shepherd looked at him with surprise, and his eyes were fixed on the wooden leg. My son,” said the old man, smiling, “ do you not think that, infirm as I am, I should have done better to have remained in the valley! Know, however, that I make this journey but once a year, and this leg, as you see it, my friend, is more honourable to me, than are to many the most strait and active." “ I don't doubt, fa. ther,” replied the shepherd, “ but it is very honourable to you, though, I dare say, another would be more useful. Without doubt you are tired. Will you drink some milk from my goats, or some of the fresh water that spouts below from the hollow of the rock?"

Old Man. “ I like the frankness painted on thy visage. A little fresh water will be sufficient. If you will bring it me hither, you shall hear the history of this wooden leg.The

young Thepherd ran to the fountain, and soon returned.

When the old man had quenched his thirst, he said, “ let young people, when they behold their fathers maimed, and covered over with scars, adore the Al. mighty power, and bless their valour; for without that you would have bowed your necks beneath the yoke, instead of thus balking in the sun's warmth, and making the echoes repeat your joyful notes. Mirth and gaiety

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