heath. The day was bright, and lovely; but no one heeded its looks. The lamb followed after the mournful procession. "Shall I turn it back?" said the shepherd-boy to the old farmer. "No; poor thing," answered George, "it loved Helen, and it will see her laid in her grave." About five miles distant was the village church-yard. The sexton waited at the gate, and conducted them to the new opened grave-the pall was removed-William let down his sister's head-the cold clay fell from the sexton's shovel sadly on the coffin-the shepherdboy wept aloud-a tear ran down the wrinkled cheek of the old farmer--the lamb bleated mournfully by his side-William heard the clods of dust fall on the coffin-he looked into the grave-turned away, and wiped his eyes-again the clay fell he looked back into the tomb, and wept bitterly."I shall go to her, but she shall not return unto me"-was the sigh of his heart.

The green turf was now laid on the silent house of rest, over which William afterwards caused a modest stone to be placed, on which was engraved his sister's name with these words of our Saviour below it. "WEEP NOT FOR ME, BUT WEEP FOR YOURSELVES."

Farewell, Helen! Perhaps thou dost not hear me; but I shall pronounce thy funeral service. Thou hast done well. Thou didst look with delight and gratitude on the scenery of creation. Thou rejoiced with

that which rejoiced, and wept with that which wept. Thy face was the home of the sober smile, and the cheerfulness of content. This was well. But it was merely like the sentimentalist, and the philosopher, to possess a natural charity, and cherish an affection for the lower works of the Creator. But thou hast done more. It was thy belief in Jesus Christ, as the author and finisher of thy faith, which gave all thy enjoyments a supernal relish. Thou hadst no hope in thy own works-in the tenderness of thy heart, or in the general mercy of the Creator. It was the mercy of God in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself, on which rested all thy faith of eternal life. It was the Spirit of God to which thou trusted for progress in holiness, and complete sanctification. It was this love of God dwelling in thy heart-this undivided trust in the Atonement, that excited all thy praise, and sustained and comforted, and secured thee in the hour of dissolution. Nor did this love of God-this trust in the Saviour-this looking for the hallowing influences of the Spirit, relax thy own endeavours of well doing These were wings to thy feet, and a light in thy path of duty. Thou didst remember thy mother's advice-thy Bible was open in thy hand. Thy heart forgave the soldierthy faithfulness and gratitude would not discover thy old friend to his enemies. Thou wast the means of persuading one soul at least into the straight path. Thy love to

thy brother was great; he will talk of it to thy father and mother in the New Jerusalem. Thou wast not much spoken of on earth. Thy tear of sympathy, thy humility, and fervour of devotion, were noticed little by the world. This is thy praise. Thou

wast well known in heaven. Thy name was familiar among those who stand with white palms in their hands, before the eternal throne. God loved thee, and took thee to dwell with him for ever. Farewell.

Young reader, the same dwelling place is open for thee. If thou hast not secured the entrance, I counsel thee to make no delay, for thou knowest not what an hour may bring forth.

CHAPTER VIII.

"Turned from the reed, that breaking disappoints
The fool that takes it for the oak; and leaning
On the arm, by which suspended worlds hang
Innumerous; and eye upturned to where
The sun ne'er sets, where flows the font of life,
Beneath the throne of God, unshaken he stood
By all that earth can do."

PERHAPS the reader wishes to know something of the future fortunes of those few friends Helen left behind her. We shall satisfy him in a very few words.

In his ninety-fifth year, the old farmer was peacefully gathered to his fathers. The

shepherd-boy, who was the old farmer's nephew, and to whom he left the most part of his substance, succeeded him in the farm, and married the servant girl who attended Helen in her last moments. And often did they tell their children, as they sat by the blazing hearth, in the winter evenings, the simple story that I have now related.

When William returned to Glasgow, his companions were surprised at the change which they noticed in his manners and conversation; and we think it will not be unuseful to state briefly, both what means they employed to draw him back to his former habits, and how he set himself to resist the arguments and temptations by which he was assailed.

His wit and talents had rendered his company peculiarly acceptable to his irreligious companions. They had mitiated and caressed him, and showed him all those flattering marks of distinction, of which young minds are peculiarly fond. They regretted the change which they remarked in his habits, and tried every means to allure him into his former ways. They pressed him by invitation after invitation, to join in their parties of unhallowed pleasure-they represented to him the unfashionableness, and joylessness, of a retired and religious life-they asked him if he meant to spend that part of his days, which nature had evidently designed for pleasure, in hearing sermons, and reading dull books of piety-they inquired what had G

become of his ambition, and his love of gaiety and splendour-and they wondered what had so blinded his reason, as to make him refrain from those pleasures which fitted his age, and to practise those gloomy duties which were despised by all but the weak and visionary, and which he himself had formerly treated with ridicule and contempt. They talked of the religious companions with whom they now saw him associating, as men of weak and superstitious minds, and unfit for the company of one of his talents. It was unmanly in him, they said, to play the hypocrite; for they were sure that one of his understanding could never believe in those absurdities, which bigots called religion. Not satisfied with their own arts of persuasion, they put into his hands books which represented the Bible as full of inconsistencies, and Christianity as an irrational superstition, unbecoming men of enlightened minds; and the authors of these books, they extolled as men of great intellectual reach, who had risen far above the common prejudices of mankind, and nobly shown, that those who follow reason and nature, live the most happy, and best fulfil the end of their being.

William had now to deny himself all the praise and admiration of his companions, he had now to resist all their enticements and arguments, and he had now to abide their taunting and ridicule. This was no easy task. To renounce the society and friend