Faith is to him the evidence of things not seen. He regards himself as a stranger and pilgrim on the earth, and anticipates the hour when his spirit shall quit its mortal tabernacle, and be for ever with the Lord: when the "dust shall return to the earth as it was;" but the spirit,—the undying spirit,—uninjured by the mutations of time, uncontaminated by the breath of mortality, shall burst from its clay tenement, and dwell for ever in uncreated light.

For this blessed consummation he lives; giving all diligence that "so an entrance may be ministered unto him abundantly into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ."

CHAPTER XI.

"Take hence to heaven

Thy holy thoughts and bright,

And soaring hopes that were not given
For the touch of mortal blight."

MRS. HEMANS.

Nor many days had passed away ere Mrs. Llewellyn and Father Basil saw their worst fears realized Raymond had renounced his

connexion with the communion of Rome, and was proposed as a member of the Protestant Church at Linburn.

To Helen this was a source of the deepest pleasure. She shed tears of delight and gratitude; and when for the first time she knelt with her beloved brother to commemorate the dying love of the Saviour, her emotion almost overcame her. It was indeed a day of rejoicing and thanksgiving, and sincerely did she bless God, and take courage. The pious Pastor and his wife participated in their joy; and many a heart, amidst his humble flock, was lifted up in grateful adoration to Him whose love and power had effected such a transformation.

For some weeks all was peace and unclouded sunshine in the bosom of Raymond. The Scriptures were his principal study, and he perused also various works that proved their authenticity. He wished, however, to be better acquainted with the evidences of the religion he professed; as the enemy of souls, unwilling to lose such a captive, would suggest doubts and difficulties calculated to stagger his faith. For this purpose he determined to apply to Mr. Somers.

"What say you to a ramble this evening, Helen?" said he, as he entered the sitting

room, where his sister was seated at her work: "I was purposing a walk to the Lodge."

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"Nothing so delightful!" replied Helen; only, dear Raymond,-I had forgotten,Louisa will not like that, and she must accompany us. We have been in close conversation the whole afternoon: I will tell you on what subject another time."

"Well, it is of no consequence: we can still have a stroll. Where is Louisa?"

"I will call her: we shall be ready immediately," said Helen, as she left the room.

The party were soon on the lawn, and in animated conversation; the exuberant spirits of Louisa rendering it difficult for any one to be sad in her society.

"That is very much like Mr. Somers, Helen," said Raymond, looking in a particular direction. They had left the grounds of the Hall.

"I was just thinking so," replied Helen: "it is he, too; we shall meet him."

"He must be ill, or something the matter," said Raymond: "how pale and anxious he looks. I hope little Emily in not worse: she was rather unwell yesterday."

"Let us hasten towards him," said Helen; and in a few moments they had met.

Mr. Somers did indeed look pale and agi

tated; but he smiled as the young people approached, and gave his hand affectionately to Helen and Raymond.

"Allow me to introduce my cousin to you, Mr. Somers," said Raymond.

"I conjectured it was Miss Llewellyn, though I had not the pleasure of knowing her," replied Mr. Somers, bowing as he spoke. Louisa returned the greeting with apparent cordiality; for it was no part of her nature to indulge anything like stiffness.

"I came here," continued Mr. Somers, addressing Raymond, "to endeavour to compose my somewhat gloomy, and perhaps rebellious, thoughts. Our darling child is, I fear, at the point of death: certainly, without a speedy change she cannot recover."

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Emily!-you astonish me!" exclaimed Helen: "I had no idea that she was so ill.”

"It is quite a shock to us all," replied Mr. Somers. "She changed for the worse this morning. But come with me,-my dear wife will be glad to see you."

They proceeded in silence to the Lodge. Little Emily was the only, the darling child of her parents: she had scarcely reached her fifth year, but her thoughtfulness and intelligence were those of a maturer age. They had endeavoured to "train her up in the way

she should go," and well had their labour been repaid; for now, on her bed of suffering, this little one could joyously anticipate her rest in heaven. She lay propped up by pillows: Mrs. Somers held one hand, the other rested on the book she most loved,-her Bible. A small nosegay of spring-flowers was on the bed,

she had ever been fond of flowers; but her blue eye had now a strange and unearthly lustre; and occasionally she gasped for breath, and the blood rushed fearfully to her cheek and brow, marked otherwise by a deadly paleness. The fond gaze of her mother was fixed upon her in agonizing apprehension; for it was but too evident that her lovely child would soon have done with all earthly things. Mr. Somers went to her, and inquired anxiously how she was. At the sound of his voice she raised her eyes, and smiled faintly.

"Is my little Emily happy?" asked the distressed father, as he kissed her parched and burning lips.

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Yes,-happy-happy,-dear papa," she "But mamma will weep: she must not grieve so."

replied, in a low tone.

"Mamma weeps to part with her little Emily, my darling: if it were the will of God, she would wish to keep her a little longer."

"But I am going to heaven, papa and