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the lightning quivered on the ground, and the heavens poured down rivers on the weeping, the exposed, the miserable, despairing Matena.

At last, morning appeared. Matena arose from the ground, and, casting a fearful glance around, beheld the late beautiful prospect laid waste -the blooming honours of the grove scattered, and the lofty pine of the forest laid low. With a hurried trembling step she left the bowers of pleasure, nor stopped till she had gained the straight-forward path of duty.

But, alas! the cheerful alacrity with which she had once trod this path was gone for ever! Self-upbraidings and conscious guilt corroded her inmost soul, and embittered every moment of her existence. Did a shady bower invite her to rest her weary feet, she entered it but to weep, and was soon obliged to hurry onwards, to regain the time wasted in the palace of dissipation. The book given her by Religion would on those occasions have been a seasonable relief, but that she had lost. Affliction presented her a black robe; and clothed in this, without a single companion but her own sad thoughts, she descended the remainder of the hill. Her feet became weak, and often lacerated by the rugged waywhen she suddenly arrived at a black iver, whose sullen waves laved the bottom of the hill. Over this river was no bridge and Matena sat down on its glodmy banks, patiently to await the hour when the waves should rise and sweep her from the land of sorrow. While she sat weeping, a bright cloud descended, and Religion again stood before her pupil. She looked with compassion on the miserable Matena: her eye beained pity, and in her hand she bore the volume formerly disregarded by Matena. From its sacred page she reproved, she exhorted, she comforted VOL. XXXVIII.

the fainting spirit of Matena, who at her command cheerfully approached the brink of the black river, and, while she fixed her eyes on her beloved monitor, the river suddenly rose, and its oblivious waters closeing over her, she was lost to my sight! Alas! child of sorrow,' I exclaimed aloud, is this the end of thy painful journey, and that horrid river the termination of thy troubles? Surely, in spite of thine errors, thy repentence deserved a better fate.'

Religion turned on me a reproving eye. 'Forbear, rash mortal,' said she, 'to measure infinite wisdom by finite.

The child of sin and sorrow is at rest.' But Matena had been taught that the first false step can never be retrieved. Yet she turned aside to contemplate forbidden pleasures; and though she regained the path of duty, and set her hand to the plough, yet she looked back with a desiring eye. She stopped when she ought to have run, and suffered the destroyer to overtake her. She selected a partner from the sons of disobedience. She became enamoured of Vanity, and allied herself to perdition. She forsook the paths of wisdom, and forgot the law of her God. But she was not permitted to perish, as many do, in the palace of pleasure, or bowers of dissipation. The thunder mercifully awoke her from her dream of fancied happiness, and warned her of the danger of procrastination. The rest of the way was watered by the tears of repentance; but happy was Matena that she had time allowed her to repent. Her errors were many, her sins flagrant; but Heaven was merciful, and she is now enjoying that pure felicity which kingdoms cannot purchase nor mortals merit, but which is freely given to the child of repentance. Religion then touched my eyes with her finger, and the thick mist which

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enveloped the river cleared up. I saw Matena rising from its black waves, renovated in youth and beauty. The robe of innocence again covered her shoulders, and floated in many a graceful fold around her feet. On her head was a crown of gold, sparkling as the morning star. A thousand harmonious voices hailed her arrival; a thousand bright forms with golden harps rejoiced over he and bore her with songs of triumph to the throne of the Most High, as a sinner who had repented of the errors of her ways.

The glory was too strong for my weak sight: I awoke, and found my self sitting in my arm-chair by a cheerful blazing fire.

SOPHIA TROUGHTON.

January 8, 1807. Homerton.

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Yet, when she turned her eyes on the pale corse, and thought on the home that mother's presence used to irradiate, remembrance swelled her breast, and tears would force their

way.

In conformity to Mrs. Gayton's desire, her mortal part was interred in N-church-yard, being the parish in which she died. Sabina and Mrs. Smith attended as true mourners on the melancholy occasion, and saw her hallowed remains peaceably laid under the wide-spreading branches of a weeping willow.

The deep, the tender sorrow, yet pious resignation, of the interesting orphan, affected the matronal bosom of the friendly Mrs. Smith. She sympathised with her in her sorrows, and fondly loved her, from a knowledge of her many amiable qualities as a daughter.

Mrs. Smith was a widow; her only son had perished in the field of battle, bravely fighting for his coun try. She possessed a small farm, which, with the best management and strictest economy, hardly afforded her the means of living. She had learned to pity the woes of her fellow-creatures, for she had tasted sorrow herself. She advised Sabina to settle with the apothecary and undertaker, if her purse would allow; to go to Crediton, and settle her affairs there; and then,' added the worthy woman, if no better a home offers, my dear child, return to me; for while I have a roof that roof shall shelter you, that's all!'

Sabina thanked her for her kindness, and followed her advice. The apothecary's bill, for medicine and attendance, amounted to sixteen pounds, and the undertaker's to twelve. The whole contents of Sabina's purse was thirty pounds. Of course, when those bills were paid, there only remained two pounds; a sum very inadequate for a journey.

She therefore determined, after much irresolution, to sell the gold watch presented to her by Gordon. Taking it in her hand to her kind hostess, 'I am sorry,' said she, but it must be so: endeavour, my dear Mrs. Smith, to find a purchaser for this present of my brother's; he will forgive me, when he shall hear how hard run I was before I would part with this token of his brotherly affection.'

You shall not part with it, my sweet child. I have not much money myself, but I will carry it to my landlord, who is a worthy man, and I dare say will advance you what you have need of on it, and when my corn is sold, I will redeem it-that's all.'

The next morning the good creature brought Sabina ten guineas on her watch, but held back both her hands when she was' offered a part. Sabina inherited the spirit of her mother, and wrapping up five guineas in a piece of white paper, left them in the drawer of a little table which stood in her chamber, as some recompense for the kind attention of the good woman to herself and her mother.

When she bade the worthy Smith adieu, her sorrows seemed to accumulate with fresh violence. With a heart overwhelmed with sorrow, a small parcel of her mother's clothes (which, being black, she wore), and a green silk purse of her sister's knitting, containing seven guineas-she stepped into the stage which passed within four miles of Crediton. The coach passed the church-yard of N She caught a momentary glance of the drooping willow, and her tears were redoubled.

The journey was completed without accident; but when the stage stopped to set her down at a style, over which, across the fields, was her Dearest way to Crediton, the agi

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tation of Sabina became excessive. She paid the coachman, who, mounting his box, was soon out of sight: then seating herself on the stile, with her little bundle in her hand, she gave ease to her oppressed heart by a flood of tears. The hour was eight; day's garish eye' was fast closing; the yellow leaves were undisturbed by the gentlest zephyr; not a sound broke on her pensive ear but the 'sullen roar of a distant waterfall. The desolate Sabina looked around: every object was familiar to her eye, and forcibly reminded her of her beloved mother. She arose from her humble seat, and slowly proceeded towards that home which she longed, yet dreaded, to behold. As she walked on, the heat became extreme, and the black

gathering clouds denoted an approaching thunder-storm, so common after a warm day in autumn. Sabina redoubled her pace, and came in sight of the white cottage as the first thunder-clap burst over her head. She passed through the little rustic gate, which stood open, but the inner door and all the windows in front were fast closed. Sabina was not surprised, as the hour was near ten; and being unwilling to disturb old Martha, she walked round to the garden front. The little glass parlour door was seldom fastened but with a latch. This she found unlocked; and entering the well-remembered parlour, threw herself on a chair. A vivid and continued flash of lightning discovered her mother's frame and chair. Sabina sighed. Another momentary illumination filled the apartment-the picture of her father caught her eye. The thunder following this flash wa so loud, so awful, that it shook the cottage to its foundation. Sabina started from her seat,-Spirit of my sainted mother,' cried the alrighted girl, hover near me, and in this

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horrid night guard thy wretched offspring from real and imaginary terrors! In life, dear mother, thou wert my beloved monitress; though dead, be thou my guardian angel!'

A heavy groan at no great distance startled her: she listened attentively: all remained profoundly silent, till the next peal of thunder rattled through the atmosphere. Sabina had been taught to disregard 'the idle tales of the villagers concerning their cottage being haunted, yet she was sure she had heard a groan.

A sudden thought struck her.— Oh my poor Martha!' cried she; perhaps you are ill, and want help.' She flew to the stairs, which she ascended with caution. She listened at

the door of the room occupied by that faithful domestic: all within washush as the foot of night.' She tried the door: it was fastened. Undetermined how to act, she at last resolved to go to her mother's chamber, and wait the approach of morning.

As she opened the door of the room, its air seemed to affect her. She could distinguish the bed by its white dra-. pery, amid the gloom of the chamber. 'Would to God,' said she, my mother, still living, reposed there! how gladly would she open her kind arms to receive her weary child!'

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Yet

awful lightning. Sabina did not
dare take advantage of those mo-
mentary flashes to look on the bed,
'should
and had still less power to fly.
why, O why,' said she,
terror so wholly possess me? I never
injured any one: and if my dear
mother's spirit is permitted to appear
to me, why should I dread to behold
it? I am sure that will not hurt me.'
She offered up a short ejaculation to
that Power to whose piercing eye
the gloom of midnight and the blaze
of noon are alike, and awaited in
awful expectation the next flash to
illumine the mysterious bed. She
did not remain long in suspense: a
transient but strong one discovered
to her aching sight an object which
put to flight the little courage she
had acquired. A human face, from
whose colourless lip and cheek the
healthful blood had long ceased to
flow, appeared on the pillow. Sabina
flew from this chamber of horror,
and from the house, with precipita-
tion. Any place, any scene, was
less terrific than the one she was
quitting. The thunder, though it
still rolled at a distance, was abating;
no rain had fallen, and the rising
wind was clearing the air of its
murky thickness. Poor Sabina seat-
ed herself beneath the shelter of an
apple-tree, and revolved with terror
and amazement the adventures of
the last few hours. Every tale she
had heard in the village was recol-
lected, and most religiously believed.

As she spoke, she threw herself on her knees by the bed-side; but what pen can describe her horror when, as she raised her hands in prayer to Heaven for strength of mind and resignation to its will, an icy hand encountered hers, and, by its freezing touch, chilled her whole frame! She started on her feet-drops of terror stood on her brow-her head swam, and she was only prevented from The fainting by extreme horror. apartment was one monent enveloped in the thickest gloom, the next perfectly illuminated by the most

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broken.

Ah! my dear mother! and did you endure those horrors in your Νο wonchamber?' said she. der your bloom faded : der your spirits were But perhaps the dreadful spectre was not permitted to alarm a heart so pure as yours by its horrid appearance.'

Lost in those reflections, she sat till the storm had wholly abated, and the arose in cloudless majesty. The night air had chilled her, and

moon

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She heeded not the path nor surrounding objects, till, suddenly lifting up her eyes, she beheld, at a short distance from her, the marble monument erected by her mother to the memory of Mrs. Benson. With amazement too she beheld a tall graceful figure, clothed in white, bend over the tomb. Its face was concealed by its arms, which encircled the urn. Again the most superstitious ideas took possession of Sabina. The moon afforded but a partial light through the thick branches of the lofty trees, yet she could clearly distinguish the motions of the figure, which were light and graceful. The profound sighs and half stifled groans which issued from it appalled the soul of Sabina, who stood fixed as though her feet had been rivetted to the spot. But greatly was her terror increased when the spectre, after remaining for some time in one position, suddenly raised its head, turned round, and, on beholding Sabina, darted with astonishing velocity towards her. Sabina uttered a piercing cry, and fled; but the seeming phantom gained upon her footsteps. As she was sinking to the ground with terTor, she was clasped to the bosom of her long-lost Mary!

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Fly me not, Sabina-pity me, my sister. I have murdered my mother

I have destroyed the best of women. A parricide, a wretch, a cursed! -no wonder my sister beholds me with horror!'

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Mary threw herself on the ground, in a paroxysm of grief. Ah, my dear Mary!' cried Sabina in a tre- mulous voice, pardon me : the horrors of this night have unsettled,

tear, my weak reason. I even took

you, my sister, for a preternatural being, How long have you been at Crediton ?'

I arrived but this afternoon, my dear girl. After my long silence, and fearing my mother might have been displeased with me, I went first to our old friend Mrs. Westwood, thinking to hear a little news about the dear cottage before I presented myself to its beloved inhabitants : but she has married a harsh unfeeling wretch, who told me I had murdered my mother, and his wife should not harbour me, nor any such. Shocked and surprised at his behaviour, I turned from his inhospitable door, but had not crossed the field when poor Jane overtook me." Ah! my dear young lady," said she, “what sad changes have happened here since you left us! You see what a brute I have got now; you see how unlike my poor dear Westwood: he would not have turned you from his door; though you have done wrong, as well as I, God help us both! But you know if we always did right we should never do wrong.' 'But Jane,' cried I, what does he mean by mentioning my mother to me? I hope she is well-I hope she has not fretted for such a worthless girl as me! The worthy creature burst into a flood of tears "Your good mother is dead." O Sabina, what were my sensations at hearing those fatal words! You can never know such, for you have ever been dutiful and obedient.'

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She said you had written to old Martha, informing her of her lady's death, but had not mentioned a time for your return. Poor Martha was insensible to the heavy news, being then speechles; and that worthy faithful woman expired yesterday. Her sister-in-law performed the last pious office of closing her eyes, and, after washing the body, laid it on her late mistress's bed; and there was

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