of his friend-Thank you! thank you!' said his lips;'Generous Wallis!' said his heart, 'why did I think of breaking with you!-I will never " His convictions struggled with his overwrought feelings-he could not expressly resolve on inviolable friendship." Vol. I. p. 229.

We have been tempted to make this impressive extract for the sake of those young men who do not yet know that borrowing of money for unnecessary expenses will inevitably rob them of their peace. Gratitude had now bound the generous Lefevre to his unprincipled companion, he consents to spend a week in the country with him, but without letting the Russell's know where he was going. "So surely does a practice which our conscience condemns, lead the most ingenuous minds to concealment. The anticipated week was a week of pleasure. The mornings were given to sporting, and the evenings to convivial pleasure." "Lefevre had brought himself to call this period a week of innocent recreation, but with all his speciousness he could not induce his heart to justify the appellation." "He felt there was too much eating, too much drinking, too much jesting, too much folly, in the absence of all elevated and religious conversation, for his conscience wholly to approve.

And yet,' said he, fretfully, why do I not approve? The rest are happy, why should I be miserable?' In that moment of passion, such is the wickedness of the human heart, he had almost branded religion and his religious connexions as the disturbers of hispeace!"

The blossoms of hope and resolution had, however, withered, and vice had gained the ascendance: still he was

unhappy. The concert, the ball-room, the card-table, the tavern club, the theatre, the masquerade, all witnessed his attendance, but all left him unhappy. Attendance on the sick-bed of his friend Douglass, for whom he still felt the warmest affection and esteem, arrested for a moment his career-but the dread of singularity, that bane of young men, and the fear of being branded with the odious stigma of meanness, if he should contract his expenses, tormented him. Debt had destroyed his manly spirit, and dissipation must drown reflection! Still he was wretched-he condemned himself-cursed his being, and flew to the stupifying draught! The affectionate admonitions of the Russels disgust him, and the tender letters of his mother, while they wound his heart, lead him only to disingenuous disguises of the truth. He changes his lodgings to free himself from the restraints of inconvenient friendship, but is again aroused by several letters from Mr. Douglass, who entreats him to consider, and informs him that he is about to complete his happiness by an union with a lady of similar character with his own. Poor Lefevre, now laments his past folly-begins a reformation, and visits Miss D. with a view to confirm his good resolves by matrimonial comfort-he addresses her and is accepted. All now went on very well, and he is wholly unprepared for a reversebut Miss D. is informed, by a rival, of his excesses, and he is dismissed, by a note from her, delivered by her grandmother, at the moment when he expected the day of his nuptials would have been named! His entreaties procure an interview, which, as it is the only love-scene in the book, we must indulge our young readers with at full length,

and advise all young ladies to imitate the wisdom of Miss D.

"Hope and fear struggled in the bosom of Lefevre, at the sight of her, so violently, that he could not address her. "I had hoped you would have spared us this painful interview,' said Miss D, 'but as you request it, I come.'

"O,' said Lefevre, afflicted by her changed manner, 'speak not so coldly.-Receive my explanation-let me hope'

"You have no reason to think me cold on such an occasion. Alas! I am not ashamed to acknowledge, thisaffair' has cost me more than you-more than my greatest enemy would have wished me to suffer.'

"The forbidden tear stole from her eye. Lefevre was melted at her emotion. He seized her hand, and exclaimed -My dear Miss D! Let me

"She withdrew her hand, and interrupting him, said, 'Mr. Lefevre, this is not wise. Do not misconstrue my involuntary feelings. I do feel-but my feelings cannot change my opinion-should I even sink under them, my resolution will remain the same. To destroy the power of suspense on your mind, let me deliberately assure you—'

"O, say it not!' interrupted Lefevre 'I am lost if you say it! Say you will use your influence to fix me in virtue to raise me to happiness!'

"I cannot-indeed I cannot!" she replied, with an agitated voice. My heart knows I wish you happy-wish you every thing that is good-but I must not sacrifice myself.'

"No!'-said he 'you need not. I should be all you

wish-all I wish to be. O, you know not what power you have over me!'

"I cannot trust that power! All who have trusted it, have repented of it. In the past you have submitted to one temptation after another, and what security is there for the future? And, could that security be given, it would not be sufficient for me. No-forgive me in saying it, duty imposes it on me-I could never give my hand to a person, allowing him to be reformed, who has, in former life, been familiarized with vice. This will convince you, that I never can be yours. No-And in withdrawing my hand from you, I do it with a resolution of never giving it to any other! Yes-my vain dream of bliss is followed by real sorrows! and I only blame my own indiscretion for it!'

"The tears flowed freely as she ceased. Lefevre stood motionless. The struggle was deep in his soul. Hope expired-despair triumphed the conflict of the passions produced a calm more dreadful than their violence. At length, raising his eyes, and forgetful for the moment of those about him, he exclaimed, with a tone as deep as his feeling, 'O God! it is thine hand—and I deserve it!' Then catching her hand he pressed and repressed it to his burning lips, and dropping it, said. "There! now it's all over! now I'm a lost man! The outcast of Providence!-I have no friend!-no-neither in heaven nor on earth!-O, weep not for me I deserve it not! Best of women! I ought not to be yours-I am not worthy of you! Forget me— Tell me I have not power to make you unhappy-that alone can give me some comfort!'

"He paused-but was answered only by sobs and tears.

He was passing to the door, but checking himself, he turned back, and said-'At least Miss D, do me the justice to believe, that, in my conduct before you, I was not acting a part. No-whatever I have been-whatever I may be—I was not a hypocrite. I acted uprightly—and really meant to be what I professed-Farewell-for ever farewell!'

"So saying, he dashed the stale tears from his eyelids— and hurried from the room and the house.

"Mr. Lefevre cried the agitated grandmother, 'leave us not thus.'

"O, stay! stay!"-exclaimed Miss D, roused by the voice of her relative, to a sense of his departure, and losing all restraint on her feelings.

Lefevre did not obey-did not hear. He had fled to the stable-thrown himself on his saddle, and, in an instant, the shoes of the horse were ringing on the pebbled court yard. The chords of her heart answered to every sound. She hastened to a window that commanded a corner of the road. She saw Lefevre turn the angle, and disappearshe felt it was for ever!-She clasped her hands in anguish -a sense of suffocation rose to her throat-she hurried to her closet to weep and sigh in secret!

"Lefevre sighed not-wept not-spoke not-thought not. The vultures of remorse and despair were busy at his heart; and he surrendered it as a victim, without an effort or a wish for its preservation. He was alive only to a sense of wretchedness; and he hurried over the road, which, an hour ago, had been so pleasing to him, as if he felt that change of place might bring relief. Wretched