it with many a soft and silent fall of dew. It succeeds all other glories, and surpasses them all; for the former things which have passed away were man's poor workmanship, and were dead in the season of their loftiest pride; whereas the lovely visitant that has occupied their place, has an excellency never known to them-it lives, it grows; for it was planted by the Lord.

C. E.

IT is the devil's grand object to draw us off from our only place of safety, the foot of the cross. This enemy of souls knows well that it is Christ, and Christ alone, who can conquer him, and therefore, if by any means he can divert the eye of faith from simply resting upon Jesus, Satan has gained much. Whether it be curious questions relating to the millennium, the personal reign, to forms and ceremonies; whether it be Calvinism, Arminianism, Irvingism, or any other ism; if such speculations obscure the cross of Christ, the child of God loses, and the devil wins.'-Dr. Fearon.

THE BYSTANDER.

No. X.

WHEN I retired to my apartment after the interesting conversation with Louisa, of which I have given the substance, I tried to indulge a hope that this unfortunate atachment might be overcome, and that my dear young friend would again enter on the path of life and peace. But I could not; I felt that she was conquered, but not subdued; she could not resist the truth, when set before her; but I feared she would not regulate her conduct by it.

My forebodings were soon verified. I received a note from her next morning, saying, that it was impossible for her to leave home at present; that she would give due consideration to the advice I had kindly given her; and requested that I would not again allude to the subject of last night's conversation. She remained in her room all day, her cousin, Maria Compton, (who to my surprise and annoyance, returned from her brother's along with the rest of the party,) keeping her company the greater part of the morning. At dinner she was declared to be convalescent, and intending to join the family in the evening; and accordingly, she made her appearance in the drawing-room soon after the arrival of Mr. Romilly, who had just returned from London.

Next morning I announced my intention of leaving them the day following. This resolution was opposed by all, except Louisa and Maria Compton, who said nothing. While we were discussing the subject, Mr. Romilly entered. When appealed to, whether it was not very wrong in Aunt Patty to go away before the usual time, he replied: 'Miss Markwell must not think of going away for a week at least; for I hope next week to lay the foundation stone of the school-house I mean to build; and I wish to give the children a dinner on the lawn, and to present each of them with a bible; and I must beg Miss Markwell's assistance in all these matters, as she has much more experience in them than I have.'

Though this sort of fête is the only kind in which I have either pleasure or interest, it would not on this occasion have tempted me to postpone my departure had not Mr. Montague decidedly expressed a wish that I should remain to accompany his daughters and niece to Elmwood. I accordingly agreed to do so. The intervening time was chiefly occupied in making and talking about arrangements for this fête ; to procure the requisite number of bibles was my appointed task; Letitia and Emma suggested the programme of the day's proceedings; while Louisa and Maria held a consultation as to who ought, and who ought not, to be invited on the occasion.

I shall not describe the festivities of that remarkable day; to me it was chiefly marked by an event productive of consequences never to be forgotten 'while memory holds her seat.' The morning was ushered in by gentle showers; but by the time of our meeting it was one of those exquisite days in which the brilliant sun and the balmy gale seem to infuse

new life and vigour into all creation. It seemed to exhilarate all the party; smiles and congratulations abounded everywhere; and many who were little used to bestow their courtesy on 'dirty village children,' were now assiduous in going from table to table, to see that all their wants were supplied.

All the neighbouring gentry who composed this gay and numerous party, paid the most distinguished attention to the Montague family, as if it were generally understood they had more than a common interest in all connected with Elmwood. Letitia and Maria Compton were in high spirits, moving about from group to group, appearing to feel themselves very much at home; and I thought I perceived an air of conscious importance, superadded to the usual quiet dignity of Louisa's deportment.

When the children's repast was ended, the party dispersed in different directions over the pleasure grounds, until the more sumptuous refreshments were arranged for them. The scene was one of fairy enchantment. The park in which Elmwood-hall stands, is a gentle slope of great extent; so that from almost every point, its diversified features of grove, lawn, and lake, are distinctly seen. A small river that runs through it, has been left here and there to murmur over its pebbly bed; has been expanded into the broad and glassy lake, and raised into the sparkling fountain; while in the centre, the splendid Grecian mansion stands proudly, thrown out in fine relief by the dark wood which covers the rising ground behind it. The sun now brightly gilded its classic porticos, and I gazed on the lovely scene with a heavy heart, for I viewed it as part of the price offered for my dear Louisa's happiness. As these thoughts passed

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through my mind, I looked up, and saw her standing near me, surveying the varied landscape with an air of exultation; her eye beaming with the pride of life, and her whole demeanour reminding me of the haughty king when he viewed the great Babylon he had built.

6

Louisa,' said I, solemnly,

"What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?""

She answered me only by a cold and haughty look, such as I had never before seen her countenance assume, and moved away to join the nearest group. I earnestly longed for the hour of departure, for the festive scene ill accorded with my feelings. I entered a shady walk, which led into a thick plantation, and felt some relief when the gay party was entirely shut out from my view. After walking a little way, I sat down in a bower composed of woodbine and clematis, and was soon lost in melancholy reflections and sad anticipations. I had not sat long, when the sound of approaching footsteps warned me the solitude was not so profound as I had expected. As the sounds, however, evidently proceeded from a path I had observed to diverge from the one I entered, I knew that if it were a party returning from the park, they would reach it without passing my retreat. I therefore gave little heed, until, as the voices drew nearer, I could not help being struck by the earnest and impassioned tone in which one of the individuals was speaking. A curve in the pathway, brought them a short distance behind the bower; and a few words, in a well-known voice, which I could not avoid hearing, plainly disclosed the nature of the conversation. I looked, in breathless agita