had with a cruel levity and inconsiderateness promised to my angry passions, a gratification, for which my conscience and feelings now reproved me. During Mr. Snughead's discourse on the inefficacy of good works without faith, I was composing the lecture which such an instance of my obduracy of heart as the one that stared me in the face, would have called from our _christian mother_. Unable to reach the purity, and I had almost said the divine eloquence which flowed in her lessons, I endeavoured to recall her often repeated words: "You have, Rachel," would she say, "an erring, but a faithful admonitress in your bosom; you will never act wrong without feeling that you are deviating. Never, for an instant, resist the intimation your conscience will give you; the warmth of your temper requires all the vigilance of your moral guide; and Heaven, in its mercy, has so constituted you, that you cannot be unjust nor unmerciful, without feeling the pains you inflict, with an acuteness proportioned to those faculties with which you are endowed for the purpose of rising to eminence in virtue. You may subvert the intentions of your Maker by an abuse of his gifts, but even in this life you will be miserable by so doing; for you will never be able to stifle the reproaches of a heart formed to have no gratifications, but in seeing the happiness of all around it. Who would reject such privileges, and turn from the sweet and satisfying pleasure of doing good to all within our reach, for the indulgencies of a petulant temper, and a stubborn self-will?"