Her letters were exposed, her expostulatory verses read at clubs and taverns, and the unhappy Sappho was toasted in derision.

"All her ideal refinements now degenerated into practical improprieties. The public avowal of her passion drew on her from the world charges which she had not merited. Her reputation was wounded, her health declined, her peace was destroyed.

She

experienced the dishonours of guilt without its turpitude, and in the bloom of life fell the melancholy victim to a mistaken education, and an undisciplined mind."

Mrs. Stanley dropped a silent tear to the memory of her unhappy friend, the energies of whose mind she said would, had they been rightly directed, have formed a fine character.

"But none of the things of which I have been speaking," resumed Mr. Stanley, "are the great and primary objects of instruction. The inculcation of fortitude, prudence, humility, temperance, self-denialthis is education. These are things which we endeavour to promote far more than arts or languages.These are tempers, the habit of which should be laid in early, and followed up constantly, as there is no day in life which will not call them into exercise; and how can that be practised which has never been acquired ?

"Perseverance, meekness, and industry," continued he, "are the qualities we most carefully cherish and commend. For poor Laura's sake I make it a point never to extol any indications of genius. Genius has pleasure enough in its own high aspirings. Nor am I indeed over much delighted with a great blossom of talents. I agree with good Bishop Hall, that it is better to thin the blossoms, that the rest may

thrive; and that in encouraging too many propensities, one faculty may not starve another."

Lady Belfield expressed herself grateful for the hints Mr. Stanley had thrown out, which could not but be of importance to her who had so large a family. After some further questions from her he proceeded.

"I have partly explained to you, my dear Madam, why, though I would not have every woman learn every thing, yet why I would give every girl, in a certain station of life, some one amusing accomplishment. There is here and their a strong mind, which requires a more substantial nourishment than the common education of girls affords. To such, and to such only, would I furnish the quiet resource of a dead language, as a solid aliment which may fill the mind without inflating it.

"But that no acquirement may inflate it, let me add, there is but one sure corrective. Against learning, against talents of any kind, nothing can steady the head, unless you fortify the heart with real Christianity. In raising the moral edifice, we must sink deep in proportion as we build high. We must widen the foundation if we extend the superstructure. Religion alone can counteract the aspirings of genius, can regulate the pride of talents.

"And let such women as are disposed to be vain of their comparatively petty attainments, look up with admiration to those two contemporary shining examples, the venerable Elizabeth Carter, and the blooming Elizabeth Smith. I knew them both, and to know was to revere them. In them, let our young ladies contemplate profound and various learning, chastised by true Christian humility. In them, let them venerate acquirements which would have been distinguish

ed in a University, meekly softened, and beautifully shaded by the gentle exertion of every domestic virtue, the unaffected exercise of every feminine employment."

CHAP. XL.

EVER since Mr. Tyrrel had been last with us, I

had observed an unusual seriousness in the countenance of Sir John Belfield, though accompanied with his natural complacency. His mind seemed intent on something he wished to communicate. The first time we were both alone in the library with Mr. Stanley, Sir John said, "Stanley, the conversations we have lately had, and especially the last with Tyrrel, in which you bore so considerable a part, have furnished me with agreeable matter for reflection. I hope the pleasure will not be quite destitute of profit."

"My dear Sir John," replied Mr. Stanley "in conversing with Mr. Tyrrel, I labour under a disadvantage common to every man, who, when he is called to defend some important principle which he thinks attacked, or undervalued, is brought into danger of being suspected to undervalue others, which, if they in their turn were assailed, he would defend with equal zeal. When points of the last importance are slighted as insignificant, in order exclusively to magnify one darling opinion, I am driven to appear as if I opposed that important tenet, which, if I may so

speak, seems pitted against the others. Those who do not previously know my principles, might almost suspect me of being an opposer of that prime doctrine, which I really consider as the leading principle of Christianity."

"Allow me to say," returned Sir John, "that my surprise has been equal to my satisfaction. Those very doctrines which you maintained, I had been assured, were the very tenets you rejected. Many of our acquaintance, who do not come near enough to judge, or who would not be competent to judge if they did, ascribe the strictness of your practice to some unfounded peculiarities of opinion, and suspect that the doctrines of Tyrrel, though somewhat modified, a little more rationally conceived, and more ably expressed, are the doctrines held by you, and by every man who rises above the ordinary standard of what the world calls religious men. And what is a little absurd and inconsequent, they ascribe to these supposed dan- ́ gerous doctrines, his abstinence from the diversions, and his disapprobation of the manners and maxims of the world. Your opinions, however, I always suspected could not be very pernicious, the effects of which, from the whole tenor of your life; I knew to be so salutary."

"My dear Belfield," said Mr. Stanley, "men of the world are guilty of a striking inconsistency in the charge they bring against religious men. They accuse them at once of maintaining doctrines which lead to licéntiousness, and of over strictness in their practice. One of them may be true: both cannot be so."

"I now find upon full proof," replied Sir John, "that there is nothing in your sentiments, but what a man of sense may approve; nothing but what, if he

be really a man of sense, he will without scruple adopt. May I be enabled more fully, more practically, to adopt them! You shall point out to me such a course of reading, as may not only clear up my remaining difficulties, but what is infinitely more, momentuous than the solution of any abstract question, may help to awaken me to a more deep and lively sense of my own individual interest in this great concern:!"

Mr. Stanley's benevolent countenance was lighted up with more than its wonted animation. He did not attempt to conceal the deep satisfaction with which his heart was penetrated. He modestly referred his friend to Doctor Barlow, as a far more able casuist, though not a more cordial friend. For my own part,

I felt my heart expand towards Sir John, with new sympathies and an enlarged affection. I felt nobler motives of attachment, an attachment which I hoped would be perpetuated beyond the narrow bounds of this perishable world.

"My dear. Sir John," said Mr. Stanley, "it is among the daily but comparatively petty trials of every man who is deeply in earnest to secure his immortal interests, to be classed with low and wild enthusiasts whom his judgment condentns, with hypocrites against whom his principles revolt, and.with men, pious and conscientious I am most willing to allow, but differing widely from his own views; with others who evince a want of charity in some points, and a want of judgment in most. To be identified, I say, with men so different from yourself, because you hold in common some great truths, which all real Christians have held in all ages, and because you agree with. them, in avoiding the blameable excesses of dissipation, is among the sacrifices of reputation, which a man