To Mr. Aubrey the Sabbath was indeed not only a day for performing the public services of religion, but also a day of real rest from the labors of life. It was not one, to him, of puritanical gloom or excitement, but of sincere, cheerful, fervent, enlightened devotion. It would have been to the reader, I think, not an uninteresting sight to behold this unfortunate and harassed family at church. They took almost the only pew which was vacant in the gallery--in a church not far distant from Vivian Street--a pew just holding themselves and little Charles; who, since their arrival in town, had begun to accompany them to the morning service. There was something in their appearance--punctual as they were in both the morning and evening--which could hardly fail to have interested any one who observed them. There were two very elegant and lovely women, dressed in simple half-mourning: a man of calm, gentlemanly manners, and an intellectual countenance, but overshadowed with deep seriousness, if not melancholy--as, indeed, was the case with the whole of the little group, except the beautiful child, Charles. If their mere appearance was thus calculated to interest those around, who beheld them so punctual in their attendance, how much would that interest have been increased, had the beholder known their singular and melancholy history? Here were individuals, whose condition was testing the reality of the consolations of religion, exhibiting humility, resignation, faith, a deep delight in attending the house of HIM who had permitted such dreadful disasters to befall them, and whose will it yet seemed to be that they should pass through deeper sufferings than they had yet experienced. His temple seemed, indeed, to them, a refuge and shelter from the storm. To Mr. Aubrey every portion of the church service was precious, for its purity, its simplicity, its solemnity, its fervor, its truly scriptural character, its adaptation to every imaginable condition of feeling and of circumstance, indeed, "to all sorts and conditions of men." A little incident fraught with much interest, occurred to them shortly after they commenced their attendance at the church. An occasional sermon was preached one evening by a stranger, from the words "_Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him_," on behalf of a neighboring dispensary. Mr. Aubrey was soon struck by the unusual strength and beauty of the sermon, in point of composition--the fervor and simplicity of the preacher. Its language was at once chaste and forcible; its reasoning clear and cogent; its illustration apt and vivid; its pathos genuine. As he went on, Mr. Aubrey became more and more convinced that he had seen or heard the preacher before; and on inquiring, afterwards, his name, his impressions proved to be correct;--the clergyman had been at Oxford, at the very same college with him, and this was the first time that they had since come within sight of each other. Mr.