Her friends, not unaware of the misgivings which clouded her hopes, often vouchsafed their counsel and encouragement.

"With sincere gratitude and love," writes Jane, "I would thank you again, my dear Anne, for your tender concern in my behalf. Your visit was truly a visit of sunshine; and how sweetly refreshing are such occasional gleams, breaking forth from a cloudy sky! and such indeed is mine. I could bear the roughness of the road, if it were but bright overhead however, I dare not turn back; and you, dear Anne, while going on your way rejoicing, will not, I am sure, be unmindful of your benighted friend. It may be long before we meet again; but my heart has been accustomed to love the absent, and my thoughts will frequently attend you, laden with sincere affection."

To another friend she says: "I own, indeed, I do feel a backwardness in introducing these topics, and, as you say, arising from a false shame, it ought not to be encouraged. But I have other impediments; and if I cannot speak with entire freedom on religious subjects, it is

not indeed because I cannot confide in you, but

for want of confidence in myself. I dread, much more than total silence, falling into a commonplace, technical style of expression, without real meaning and feeling, and thereby deceiving both myself and others. I well know how ready my friends are to give me encouragement, and hope the best concerning me; and as I cannot open to them the secret recesses of my heart, they put a too favourable construction on my expressions.

"Yet I do hope that I have of late seen something of the vanity of the world, and increasingly feel that it cannot be my rest. The companions of my youth are no more; our own domestic circle is breaking up; time seems every day to fly with increased rapidity; and must I not say, 'The world recedes'? Under these impressions I would seek consolation where only I know it is to be found. I long to be able to make heaven and eternity the home of my thoughts, to which, though they must often wander abroad on other concerns, they may regularly return and find their best entertainment. But I always indulge with

fear and self-suspicion in these most interesting contemplations; and doubtless the enjoyments arising from them belong rather to the advanced Christian than the doubting, wandering beginner. I am afraid I feel poetically rather than piously; and while I am indulging in vain conjectures on the employments and enjoyments of a future state, I must envy the humble Christian who, with juster views and better claims, is longing to depart and be with Christ.

Nor would I mistake a fretful impatience with the fatigues and crosses of life for a temper weaned from the world. I could indeed sometimes say,

'I long to lay this painful head

And aching heart beneath the soil-
To slumber in that dreamless bed
From all my toil.'

And I have felt, too, these lines,—

'The bitter tear, the arduous struggle ceases here-
The doubt, the danger, and the fear,

All, all for ever o'er.'

But these feelings, though they may afford occasional relief, I could not indulge in."

Her discernment of the true question at issue in cases like these is not without interest :

"I cannot think what has given you the idea so strongly that I advocate the theatre, unless it be my going one evening five years ago; and though I am not aware of having sustained any material injury, I have ever since decidedly resolved never to repeat the visit; and I hope you will believe me when I assure you that I disapprove of such amusements, and should think it very dangerous to be in the habit of frequenting them.

"You mention novels. I would as soon read some of Miss Edgeworth's or Miss Hamilton's novels, with a view to moral improvement, as Foster's essays; and I have too high an opinion of your good sense and liberality to suppose that, after a careful perusal of these and some few other good novels (for the number of good ones I readily allow to be very small), you would repeat that 'to read them was incompatible with love to God.' You oblige me to recur to a hackneyed argument, that the abuse of a thing should not set aside its use.

"Do not say, then, I am pleading for an

indiscriminate indulgence in novel-reading, or a frequent perusal of the very best of novels; that, in common with every innocent recreation, may be easily carried to a hurtful excess. But you seem to me to fancy some fatal spell to attend the very name of novel, in a way that we should smile at, as narrow-minded and ignorant, in an uneducated person. All I wish you to admit, all I think myself, is that it is a possible thing for a book to be written, bearing the general form, appearance, and name of a novel, in the cause of virtue, morality, and religion; and then, that to read such a book is by no means 'incompatible with love to God,' or in the least displeasing in his sight. I think you will not hesitate to admit this; and then we exactly agree in our opinions of 'plays and novels.' That plays and bad novels are 'poisons which Satan frequently insinuates' with too great success, I have no more doubt than yourself. Yet, if I am not mistaken, he has some still more potent venoms. If I might judge from myself, there are ways, in the most private life, in domestic scenes, in solitary retirements, by which Satan can as effectually