reduced circumstances at the termination of this period, it was found that he had signified in his last hours that I was to be removed from the home so dearly loved by me, and so connected in my mind by innumerable ties of affection, in order that I might be placed under the care of a widowed aunt of his own, and consequently a great aunt of mine. The residence of this lady is in a genteel markettown, fifty or more miles distant from the place in which I had resided ever since my mother's death. She is independent and without children, and her motives for accepting the charge of me were kind and considerate, and worthy a better return from me than she received.

But alas! the order for my removal was a sad interruption to my happiness, and as it then appeared, to my improvement. I felt at that period for my cousins as for my own brothers and sisters; the manner of my life was then most happy. My uncle's wife had taught me to read and work, and had given me a Bible, which, young as I then was, I had been led to delight in. I can remember sitting under the shade of the trees in the garden with my cousins, looking for beautiful verses in this precious volume, and running eagerly to show my aunt such as I thought would especially please her. I have an idea of doing this frequently and the circumstance is associated in my mind with the odour of violets, and the perfume of jessamin. We had a very large garden at my uncle's, and from a terrace walk at the bottom of it, where we frequently strolled on a Sunday between the hours of divine service, we could see a range of Welsh mountains on one side bounded by the Shropshire Clee, and on the other by the comparatively low Cheshire hills; and I have not forgotten one of these occasions on which my aunt, in pointing out these hills, endeavoured to raise our infant minds to those spiritual scenes of which the mountains of the earth are the acknowledged emblems, viz., the spiritual Zion, to which "the ransomed of the Lord shall return with everlasting joy upon their heads, they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. I wept bitterly when the time came in which I was to be parted from the beloved scenes and friends of my infancy, for all that had gone before my residence in my uncle's house, had passed away from my mind as the shadows of the morning, or as the track of a ship upon the ocean.

*

I have a distinct recollection of the sorrowful expression of the gentle countenance of my uncle's wife. When having put on my black crape bonnet and tippet, she took me on her lap and kissed me many times, blessing me and praying that I might ever be remembered of that Saviour, who is the orphan's Friend, and Father of the fatherless. I never from that time saw that dear aunt; never again did that sweet voice which had so often directed my infant eye to the Star of Bethlehem meet my ear. It was for ever silenced in this world before I was permitted to revisit my uncle's family. "God bless you, little Fanny, -my own little Fanny," were the last words which I remember of this dear lady: they were spoken just before the carriage, which was to *Isaiah xxxv. 10.

convey me to the place of my destination, drove

door. Whilst my little cousins were standing on the steps of their father's house all in tears, and when I looked back for the last time on that happy home which was to be my home no longer, I saw my uncle leaning on the gate, and still gazing on the carriage.

I remember no particulars of my journey, or of my arrival at my new home; therefore I suppose that I must have been tired with crying, and have slept in the chaise most of the way. The first clear recollection I have of my great aunt was seeing her unpacking my clothes in a little room within her own, in which she had carefully arranged every thing for me, according to her own ideas of neatness and comfort; although she certainly did not understand how to promote the happiness of a child so well as the dear friends from whom I had been so lately parted. But, as I said above, my first recollections of my aunt are seeing her unpacking my wardrobe, her maid Sarah, who had been the companion of my journey, being her assistant. I was kneeling on a chair by a window which looked on a small court entirely surrounded by buildings, and I could find no better diversion than to attend to what was passing within the room. My aunt had taken my best bombazine frock out of the box, and was holding it up, turning it round, and spreading it open before her as one would try an apron; at length drawing up her lip, and looking at her maid, "The child," she said, "cannot be seen at church in such a frock as this. The materials are good, it is true, but such a make,-Sarah, did you ever see such a make? the cuffs are just such as my grandmother would have worn, and not a bit of gimp on the stomacher; we must have Miss Blenkinsop, if possible, before Sunday, or Fanny cannot go out. Well, place the things in the drawer, and take an account of them by the list on the lid of the trunk, and don't let me see any more of them till Miss Blen-kinsop is come; for, in deed and in truth, I could have had no notion that any people in their senses could have allowed good bombazine and crape to have been cut and carved in such a fashion"—then suddenly turning to me-"You may be thankful, Fanny," she added, "that your good father thought of you before his death, and caused you to be removed from a place where you never would have been made any thing of." "I don't want to be made any thing of," I answered; "I want to go home;" and I begun to cry.

"Do you hear that?" said my aunt, addressing her maid.

"Stand off the chair, Miss," resumed the maid, "and hold yourself up; let missis see what you be. She is straight and pretty well grown ma'am," she added.

"They have not starved her; those sort of people never do," replied my aunt; "such people have a great notion of cramming their children." I remember no more of this conversation; I almost wonder that I remember so much; but whoever looks back on years past will find that certain passages of small importance are indelibly fixed on their memories, whilst others of infinitely greater moment are wholly passed away from their recollection.

From the time in which I was established with my aunt, my habits of life underwent a total revolution; and, what was of more importance,

the style of sentiments and opinions which I was subjected to hear, was even, if possible, more entirely different; and it would not be amiss to remark in this place, that the character of a young person is often more decidedly affected by opinions dropped in common discourse, than by those endeavoured to be conveyed in the form of a lecture or lesson. It may appear to my reader that I am taking great liberties with the character of my aunt; I must therefore plead as my excuse, that all I write is under the eye of that dear friend, and that it is by her especial request that I adhere to the strict truth: it will appear at the end of my narrative wherefore she is thus urgent in insisting on my acquiescence in these particulars.

When residing with my uncle, I had been taught so to number my days that I might apply my heart unto wisdom. I am far from saying that I had learnt the lesson so sedulously inculcated; but at least it had never been a question with me whether this lesson were correct or not so; but in my new home, the world, the world, and how to please the world, was all that was ever held before me; and inasmuch as worldly matters were ever pressing on my senses, the lessons were not repeated without effect. I shall no further describe my manners of education, excepting that when Miss Blenkinsop had trimmed my stomacher, I was permitted to accompany my aunt to church, and there was introduced to some little misses as genteelly dressed as myself. With these I went every week-day to a polite day-school, where I learnt many fashionable accomplishments, and became particularly skilful in the sublime art of dancing, to which I, with my young companions, devoted at least two afternoons out of the six. At length, when I had completed my sixteenth year, I was permitted to accompany my aunt in all her morning and many of her evening visits; and when it was at length decided that my education was complete, I was, at least in my own opinion, a very amiable, accomplished, and superior sort of personage, having a very sufficient contempt for all those young people of my acquaintance who did not precisely belong to my own especial coterie. No doubt, could I then have seen my cousins, I should have included them in the number of persons unworthy of my regard. I had never seen them since my childhood; nevertheless, they, with all the scenes and transactions of the period I had spent with them, were shut up in my heart; and though not often remembered, yet, when they were so, seeming like visions of fairy land, not indeed to be recalled at pleasure, and never so, in fact, when the din, and noise, and tumult of the world could not be entirely excluded. (To be Continued.)

PARENTAL RESPONSIBILITY.

EVERY one who gives the subject a moment's reflection, readily perceives, that with the parents of the present generation are intrusted in no small degree the destinies of the generation that is to succeed them. It is true indeed that the soul has a natural bias in favour of evil; and this bias discovers itself as soon as the mind is capable of acting; and no human efforts in the way of education are sufficient to correct it,

unless they are aided by the almighty Spirit; still it remains true that the character of the child is formed in a great degree by parental influence; and it is more than probable, in any given case, that the neglect or the unfaithful discharge of parental duty will decide whether the child shall live a happy and useful life, and finally terminate his career in immortal glory, or whether he shall live as a mere drone-a scourge to society, and at last suffer a retribution of eternal wretchedness.

But while the importance of parental fidelity is most readily admitted in theory, there is reason to believe that the obligation to it is lamentably disregarded in practice. And it is not merely the children of irreligious parents, or those who make no pretensions to piety, whose moral and religious interests are neglected, but the children of those who have confessed Christ before men, and who stand pledged by the terms of their Christian profession to train up those committed to their care in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.

One fundamental error in the practice of most Christian parents is, that they suffer themselves to be ignorant, to a great extent, of the manner in which their children pass much of their time. They know perhaps that they regularly attend school, or are engaged at some daily occupation; but how they pass the hours of their leisure, what amusements they engage in, or in what company they mingle, or what language they use, or what habits they are addicted to, they have scarcely more knowledge than if they had nothing to do in directing their education. And it not unfrequently happens, that where they are informed by others of the tendency of their children to evil courses, as for instance of an incipient habit of profaneness, they manifest a culpable incredulity in respect to it, and instead of investigating the facts on which such complaints are professedly based, they pass the whole by as too improbable, or too unimportant to demand any special attention. And the consequence is, that the child regards the parent as conniving, at least, at its evil conduct, and is prepared to take another and another step with greater confidence, until the appalling secret forces itself upon the negli gent father, that his child is rapidly sinking in the gulf of ruin.

There is no vice, perhaps, to which boys, especially in a city, are so much exposed as profane swearing; and there is no vice which more effectually than this begets an aversion to all religion, and a habit of absolute impiety. We would earnestly exhort Christian parents not to be too ready to take for granted that their own children are free from this vice: if we do not greatly mistake, the number who are free from it is comparatively small; and we have much reason to believe that among those who practise it are some whose parents would wellnigh weep blood, if they supposed their children capable of it. Let them leave nothing on this subject at uncertainty. Let every Christian parent remember that his children are of the same flesh and blood with those of his neighbour, and that if others are liable to fall into vice, so are they; if others require watchful attention to prevent the formation of evil habits, there is nothing in their case to constitute an exemption from danger. Let them remember that they owe it to the present and eternal well-being of their children, to the best interests of the next generation, and of coming ages; to their own peace and comfort, and to their

Christian vows and obligations, that they do their utmost to turn their children away from the path of death, and to train them up to usefulness and virtue, to glory, and honour, and immortality.

A GENTLE REPROOF.

THERE is no sound which grates more harshly on the ear of a man of feeling and of generous disposition, than to hear a brutal husband speak harshly to an amiable wife. The wretch who can treat a woman ill, deserves the contempt of his fellow-creatures-but when that woman is one who looks to him for support, for kindness and protection-one whose path through life he is bound by every noble principle to strew with flowers-the brute who plants the thorns instead, like Cain, should have a mark set upon his forehead, that he may be known and shunned by every honest man. But there is many a worthy woman, who could tell an affecting tale of patient suffering under unmerited abuse. Zechariah Hodgson was not naturally an ill-natured man. It was want of reflection, more than a corrupt and ungenerous heart, that led him to consider his wife in the light of an inferior being, and to treat her more like a slave than an equal. If he met with any thing abroad to ruffle his temper, his wife was sure to suffer when he came home. His meals were always ill-cooked; and whatever the poor woman did to please him was sure to have a contrary effect. She bore his ill-humour in silence for a long time; but finding it to increase, she adopted a method of reproving him for his unreasonable conduct, which had the happiest effect.

One day, as Zechariah was going to his daily avocation after breakfast, he purchased a large codfish and sent it home, with directions to his wife to have it cooked for dinner. As no particular mode of cooking was prescribed, the good woman well knew that whether she boiled it, or fried it, or made it into a chowder, her husband would scold her when he came home. But she resolved to please him once if possible, and therefore cooked portions of it in several different ways. She also, with some little difficulty, procured an amphibious animal from a brook at the back of the house, and put it into the pot. In due time her husband came home-some covered dishes were placed on the table, and with a frowning, fault-finding look, the moody man commenced the conversation. "Well, wife, did you get the fish I bought?"

"Yes, my dear."

"I should like to know how you have cooked it-I will bet any thing that you have spoiled it for my eating. [Taking off the cover.] I thought so. Why in the world did you fry it? I would as lief eat a boiled frog."

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Why, my dear, I thought you loved it best fried.”

'You did not think any such thing. You knew better. loved fried fish-why didn't you boil it?"

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I never

'My dear, the last time we had fresh fish you know I boiled it, and you said you liked it better fried. I did it merely to please you; but I have boiled some also." So saying, she lifted a cover, and lo! the shoulders of the cod nicely boiled were neatly deposited on a dish; a