CHAPTER XVII.

THE Succession of griefs which so rapidly pursued Matilda, had left her with little power to step out of the circle of her own sorrows to take part in the distresses of another. But, suffering as she was in spirit, and labouring under indisposition of body so severe as confined her almost to her bed, her first impulse on reading Mr. St. Aubyn's note, and hearing from Mr. Willett the present situation of his mother, had prompted her to write to that anxious mother with the utmost solicitude, informing her of her own peculiar affliction at this time, and intreating, as soon as her health was sufficiently restored to admit of her making such an effort, that Mrs. St. Aubyn would receive a visit from her, "that together," as she expressed it, "they might mingle their griefs, and seek the only aid which could administer to their comfort."

In a few days she received the following reply"I sympathise with you, my dearest Matildayou will readily believe, at a moment like this, how deeply my heart sympathises in your distress; and I could address to you, my love, many words of consolation; but they must sound tame and common. place. Suffer me, therefore, instead of this, to beguile your attention for a while from the contemplation of your own sorrows, by speaking of myself-a

poor theme, Matilda!-a very worthless theme; but perhaps, just now, fraught with a little of that instruction which the meanest of us, in our errors, our mistakes, and in our sufferings, may impart to the wisest.

in

"You think me unhappy, and in the kindness of your heart you would come to comfort me. It is very true that I am suffering, troubled on every side, but not cast down.' Edmund, my dear and only son, is gone from me ; and I believe that I shall look upon him no more in the land of the living. But one is left to me, who, under God, is building up my soul for heaven; and with her, Matilda, I find a consolation no words can render intelligible. It is Ann Morton, of whom you have heard me speak in terms of affection ; but oh, how inadequate to her worth, or to the debt of gratitude I owe her. Her natural disposition, like mine, is enthusiastic, and, of course, her religious opinions are tinctured with it in no small degree. But, Matilda, is it permitted us to be energetic in every other question? Shall feeling and passion upon many points, be not only recognised as natural; but even as laudable, and where our eternal interest is at stake, where the affections are exercised upon objects which are to employ and occupy them through countless ages of bliss or misery, is it there that it becomes us to be lukewarm, temperate, calculating, and calm? I cannot be this half-animated Christian,' said Ann to me this morning, as we were discussing the manner in which the generality of those who call themselves Christians, receive and practise the precepts which are to guide

them to eternal life.

"If Revelation be true, if it be indeed the light which God has given me to walk by in the dark and devious path of life; if the words it speaks are words from heaven-words that tell me of a Saviour who lived and died to redeem my soul from death, and to shew me a path to everlasting happiness; if this be so, can I be otherwise than warm and zealous in striving to fulfil what it enjoins? Am I to be indifferent whether I fulfil it or not? Can I do less, in short, than devote my life to that which is to save my life?

if a

"If this be not the case,' "she continued less rigid sacrifice is demanded of me; if I may take my lot in this life; if I may say to my soul, thou hast many goods laid up for thee;' if, in short, I may make the path to heaven a plain and easy one, let me. burn my Bible at once, since on that supposition its monitions never can be true. The gate to life never can be strait and narrow, if those are to find it who seek it after the manner of the world at large. But you and I, Catherine, we know better things-we have not so learned the Gospel.'

"I sighed heavily, Matilda-not that I doubted her words: I too well know that the path of worldly pleasure, in which for so many years my feet have wandered, has been a path of wretchedness and error. But I sighed to think through what resistance on my part, of pride and passion, of a hard and corrupt heart, and of a senseless imagination, my merciful Father has led me to Himself, as if He would not let me find my rest in any thing short of those glorious hopes which He has given to them that love Him.

“Oh, what a vain, self-depending, ignorant creature have I been for years!-thinking that I could find the way to heaven without difficulty and without endurance! Presuming that a just and holy Being could look upon a heart full of worldly cares and pursuits, unsanctified by divine grace-never brought near to its Maker by a contemplation of Him in His dealings with His creatures-never aspiring after communion with Him in prayer, but giving all its affections to a hollow and deceitful world-spending itself for that which was not bread, and labouring for that which satisfied it not.

“Ah, He has indeed scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts!

"He has cast me down, Matilda; but it was to raise me up again, and I am strong in His support.

"I will not ask you, then, my dearest, to come to me. There are yet human feelings to be subdued, which the sight of you would revive with a strength it might be difficult for me to combat. Let me hear from you; and when I wish to see you, and feel that I can do so without danger, I will communicate such a desire to you. In the mean time, believe me thinking of you with prayers, and with an affection which you share equally with my beloved Edmund. But do not in your letters, at present, speak to me of my All is as it should be in my heart respecting him-but still do not speak of him,

son.

"I must say farewel, my best beloved Matildaas dear and interesting as if you had been my own child, will your fate ever be to

CATHERINE ST. AUBYN."

CHAPTER XVIII.

NoT to pause upon this period of our story, we will pass over the first few months of Matilda's widowhood; an interval which she spent entirely in the society of her good friends the. Willets. Mrs. St. Aubyn, though corresponding with her, still declining, with an earnestness which could not be resisted, her young friends repeated wishes to visit her.

Considering it as a circumstance which affected her own welfare, the death of Charles could not reasonably be regarded, either by Matilda or her friends, as a misfortune.

But Matilda was a being of no selfish feelingsno contracted views; and the deep melancholy into which she sunk upon the loss of her husband, sprung from regrets, which no common or ordinary mind could sympathise with or understand; because ordinary minds, having given to their departed friends and relatives the usual quantity of lamentation, instinctively follow the advice of survivors; and, having joined in mutual hopes, and assurances that the deceased is "happy" (as the phrase is), they put themselves into becoming mourning, and gradually become happy also.

This is the usual way of disposing of subjects which are sure to be brought under the consideration VOL. II.-R