therefore, present you with another letter, which Mr. Wilford received on this occasion, and his answer :

66 MY DEAR WILFORD,

"I heard of the unfortunate accident in your family this morning only, and I instantly proceeded to Mulgatawny, to see if I could be useful to Mrs. Wilford. Your friend Mr. T had left me nothing to do but to condole with, and console your wife and daughter.

"My object in writing this is to endeavour to prevail on you not to leave London until you have completed your business there. Apply yourself to that business, and endeavour by doing so to prevent your mind from dwelling upon that which neither you nor I can now remedy. Leave your family to Mr. T and myself.

"I am happy to say Mrs. Wilford and your daughter bear up as they ought to do. Your son has only the feelings of a child, and before he gets age time will blunt them. I wished to bring him home, but Mrs. Wilford would not agree to my doing so. As Mrs. W- must now be under increased expenditure, I took the liberty of requesting she would draw on me if requisite.

c 5

"Bear up like a man and a soldier under this blow-this is the time to show you are a man.—— I think it not impossible but the accident may hereafter have a beneficial effect upon your son.

"How much better that the accident should have happened to the child than to the father-be thankful to the Almighty.-Your daughter is an ad

mirable

young woman.

"Your sincere friend,

D- M-."

"MY DEAR MAJOR,

"The very kind and brotherly part you have taken in my calamity is a real alleviation; for in anguish whatever draws the mind from itself affords relief; and it was impossible for me to read your most friendly letter without admiring the spirit that breathed in every line.

"True, the hour of trial is the practical period for exercised fortitude. I can bear up; because I am prepared not only to lose all in this world, but my own life in a moment. Death is not misery; he alone is happy who is no more; for how can contemplation be serene under the apprehensions that human frailty engenders? My poor girl died, as you

and I have often made up our minds to die-without pain, and flying on hope's wing.-But then it is terrible to think of the accident.-Unfortunate boy! thou art to be pitied-not she! Her angel spirit has gone to her Father above-but what must his reflection awaken, every time he beholds her in the mirror of memory!-True-you are perfectly philosophical in saying that the catastrophe may have a beneficial effect. We cannot think of the consequences of our own rashness and disobedience without humility and sorrow; but happy is he who sails by the experience of others, and not by the tidemarks on those rocks of passion which wrecked him before. I greatly fear the men I left in charge of my house placed the pistols in my boy's way. Oh! how often had I warned that rash child never to touch my fire-arms! I have written to Mrs. Wilford in my best terms of consolation. I do not attribute blame. Such accidents have occurred; and our calamity might have happened had I been present. I think Mrs. Wilford was right in declining your kind offer respecting my son. Your other proposal was equally in tone with the warm heart that suggested all your kind acts to me; but Mrs.

W.

can draw as much money as she pleases from my agent in Monaghan. If I could properly apply to business, I would follow your advice, and stay here till I completed all my plans; but what cannot be done well is better suspended till I am myself again. I shall, however, place things in proper train, and if possible, leave this for Mulgatawny on Tuesday next by the Holyhead night coach.-I intended to go to Yorkshire, to see my old friend Smyth; but my arrangements are overwhelmed; and I must run before the storm as my best refuge. My presence at home will cheer my wife; and that should be the main object of a husband.-I am glad my daughter has behaved so as to merit your approbation.-Pray believe me,

"Your gratefully and warmly attached

"H. WILFORD.”

It had long been the Nabob's practice in trouble to fly for comfort to the house of God.-There is not in the whole world more appearance of religion than in London. You may go to some place of worship almost every day and every night if you please, as well as on Sunday. The Sabbath day

is, as it should be, a day of rest; no plea of necessity is admitted to authorize deviation; the postoffice is shut; public business goes to prayers; and you hear, from daylight to evening, one continued call to devotion from the steeples. The Nabob went to Bow church, the rector of which is a most venerable-looking, silver-headed man, seventy years old, and still in full possession of the talents and faculties which distinguished him in manhood's prime. The tone of his voice, the earnestness of his manner, the beauty of his style, the correctness of his action, and the excellence of his discourse, make the hearts burn that hear him. You would leave Bow church with an impression that you had heard an approved servant of God-you would even feel as though you had been communicating with the Deity. Monuments of the dead peep from every part of that beautiful edifice, the sacred neighbour of St. Paul's; whose clock tells, in sullen and sublime voice, the march of passing hours, and thrills the hearer, during service, with its deep, dull, supernatural dole over the illustrious dead that sleep be-neath the mighty dome, where their sculptured forms stand tangible in speaking marble. Your flesh creeps with the stealing tones of the finest organ that