serve) presented in the two distinct characters and different habits of the commercial and idle parts of the population of this great city, afford a vast and amusing variety of objects. Indeed, I have so many present, that my only difficulty consists in selecting between things equally interesting.In my early excursions, I hesitate between a walk to Kensington-Gardens, which, though de serted, are delightful in fine weather, or a visit of curiosity to the WetDocks, the British Museum, the Courts of Law, or the Exhibition at Somerset-House. When the protracted morning of fashion begins, I find it no less difficult to determine, whether I will join the gay promenaders in St. James's-street spend two or three hours in examining the numberless treasures of some of your many interesting shops or avail myself of that liberality, which has opened the splendid Picture Galleries of Lords Grosvenor and Stafford, and others, to the inspection of the public; and when evening approaches, I am again puzzled, (thanks to your friendly recommendations) between a number of invitations to dinner, balls, and other assemblies, all of which it is imposa sible to accept. Of them I shall say nothing at present, my letter being already too long; but shall reserve my remarks on private society till my next. Adieu, then, TO CLARA. And believe me ever your's, i My Clara! when each summer flow'r Tho' here, when friends around I see," Oh, no! the heart, which is the seat It is eternal as the soul, And lives and blooms beyond the grave. A never-ending token,, Whose lustre and whose strength remain, AZAR. LADY SELDON was weeping, and the violent efforts, she used to restrain, her grief, only rendered it the more hysterical-her husband was dying but she wept not that the friend of her youth was departing from her that he who soothed her in sickness and in sorrow, and who brightened her hour of gaiety, was leaving her to waste her lone hours in widowhood. No-all these re collections were lost in the overwhelming grief, that their separation would be eternal. She could have borne his death without an apparent pang-her sense of duty had, through life, so governed her feelings, that they appeared almost extinet-but they were the more concentrated from the restraint and now that she had suffered them to overcome her, they mocked her endeavours to stifle them. Yet, for worlds, she would not have suffered her children to witness her weaknes; and, at length, her exhausted frame, worn with contending emotions, found relief in slumber. It would have been curious to an observer of nature, to have compared the agitated sleep of Lady Seldon, her convulsive start that threatened every instant to awaken her, with the placid and gentle repose of her lord, the unconscious cause of her sufferings. Lord Seldon was an atheist he was dying his physicians doubted if he could live throughout the ensuing week; and his lady, who had been brought up in the strictest tenets of the Christian religion, feared he would die an unbeliever. Was there any hope she could now effect that, which for the space of eighteen years had been the aim and busines of her life? Daily, had she urged the topic, and was always answered by her husband with exquisite good humour. She felt the delusive hope, that the morrow would prove more propitious than to-day. Once, and once only, when she urged him beyond his strength, having exhausted all her eloquence in favour of Christianity, and finding him still regardless, she could no longer restrain her anger, but with clasped hands and raised eyes, - she exclaimed aloud,"Behold, Oh Lord, the worm that dares deny thy existence and authority!" then, bending her eyes on her husband with a look of desperation, she continued, "And I had fixed my heart on a confirmed atheist-a man on whom the breath of heaven should not wander." Lord Seldon was now evidently displeased.-"Emily," said he, "when I see that religion, whose merits you are always asserting, cannot even teach you to command your temper, you will not blame my humility, when, I fear, its salutary effects might be equally lost upon myself." He then hastily left the room, and his Countess internally vowed never more to name religion in his presence.-Lady Seldon, however, descanted daily, nay hourly, on its merits to her two children and she never failed to set forth, in glowing colours, the horrors of atheism, and the certain fate that awaited it-perhaps an indefined hope, that she might reach the father's heart through the medium of his children, mingled itself with her exertions; but surely she was mistaken in the means she took to obtain this end. Her children, George and Laura, well remembered, that their Sunday pastimes had always been disturbed and prevented by their mother, but they vainly tasked their memories for the recollection of a single unkind word from their father. A falsehood, a theft however trivial, an unkindness to each other, he would not easily have pardoned; but they were amiable, kind-tempered children, and had never so offended to deserve his reproof. Lady Seldon, on the contrary, had often found them remiss in their religious duties; and though, at first, in early youth, their little inattentions were easily pardoned, yet now they were of an age to understand their duties, and to fulfil them; they found her harsh and unrelenting. Her temper was not naturally bad, but her religious feelings had received a wound from the continued infidelity of her husband, that could not be healed; and this gave added asperity to her opinions, and severity towards her children. It was, therefore, in vain she assured them, Atheists were the worst of human beings; that they were condemned to condign and eternal punishment. They well knew their father's opinions, and would not believe one they loved so well could be denied a resting-place in heaven.-It was, perhaps, unfortunate for her purpose, that Lord Seldon's life had been exemplary; he had fulfilled every duty, public and private. He was so rich in intellectual knowledge, that he could afford to pay its tribute wherever he found it; his temper and disposition, naturally good, had been so well regulated, that he cast a sunshine over all with whom he associated; her endeavours, therefore, to inspire her children with horror of their father's opinions were unavailing, and they had this bad effect; they led them to make invidious comparisons, disadvantageous both to herself and to her religious tenets; they began to doubt the truth of what their mother told them, and to doubt, they say, is to be lost. Had Lady Seldon, instead of dwelling on the inflexible justice, shewed the unlimited mercy of her God, she had conquered.-Christianity would have acquired new beauty in their eyes, from its clemency in pardoning even those who denied its power and authority. She disdained, however, to use this advantage; she would rather govern by fear than love; and as she never addressed herself to God without fear and trembling at her own comparative insignificance, in the same degree she felt her superiority, and the degradation of those whose faith was not so firmly founded as her own. She shuddered, on discovering the wavering opinions of her children, who were too artless to conceal them; and she forgot her love for her husband, when she considered him the original cause of her children's apostacy. A great change had lately taken place in Lord Seldon, an hereditary malady was fast destroying the seeds of life-his wife now thought it her duty to renew every endeavour for his conversion, for once she appealed eloquently, for she appealed to the heart, she descanted long on the immeasurable power of the Almighty -she told him that even yet it was not too late, "Repent-believe-have Eur. Mag. Vol. 82. you faith," said she, her heart upon her lips, as she turned to the dying sufferer. "If there be a God," said he, "good works will be more acceptable in his eyes, than blind faith, pronounced on the threshold of existence; and those benefits my station, my own wishes, have enabled me to confer upon others, will be my propitiation with the Eternal.' "If," murmured his wife-but he had sunk from excessive debility on his pillow, and was totally unequal to further conversation. Lady Seldon left his apartment to indulge her sorrow freely, and it was after this unsatisfactory attempt she had sunk into the agitated slumber we before mentioned. She awoke from a long sleep unrefreshed, but with renewed composure, she then descended to the drawing-room, where her children were weeping for their father. "Dry your tears, Laura-George, I am ashamed of this weakness, when you ought, both of you, to rouse all your energies to save your father's soul from eternal punishment, you are mourning over his mere bodily ailments. Come with me, and save him, or take warning by beholding the death-bed of an Atheist." George put his hands to his forehead, his body was convulsed; Laura threw her arms around him. "Dear brother," whispered she, "if he should die unbelieving, our prayers, and his virtues, will secure him an asylum in heaven." Lady Seldon led the way to his apartment-they stepp'd softly-so softly that the dying man did not hear them A sad change had taken place in his appearance within the last few hours-his dissolution was rapidly approachingone damp cold hand supported his head above the pillow, the other hung listlessly by the side of his couch-It was a warm autumnal evening the sun was sinking in unclouded glory, amid burnished clouds below the horizon-the soft south breeze, that played gently through the open window, waved the clustering curls of his dark brown hair, darker from being contrasted with the livid paleness of his cheek-he had not observed the entrance of his family, and was thinking aloud"Spirit of nature," said he, “how divine are thy works, how delightful their effects, bear me gently into futu2 D rity-I have not sought to develope thy mystery-I have only worshipped thee in the bright sun-in the soft moon-in the green fields in human nature-in my friends-in my wife my children! Art thou satisfied with such worship-the worship of the heart?"-"Oh-no-no-he is not—he cannot be what do you mean by the spirit of nature ?" interrupted his wife. "That which produced this world and myriads of others that which produced thee, my sweet Emily, and my beloved children." My dear father," cried Laura, her countenance brightening with renewed hope, we shall meet again in heaven," he prest her to his bosom, and, with a voice rendered almost inarticulate by emotion, said, "I hope so, if there be a heaven, I am sure so and now my sweet children, to you I will confess what human pride would still urge me to conceal, that I would give up all, éven this last hour of your endearments, to purchase a thorough conviction that we should meet again I go without fear, but I go cheerlessly, I would purchase the hope that brightens your brow, my Laura," continued he, as he convulsively prest her fingers."I am without fear," repeated he," but without hope," and relaxing the grasp by which he held his daughter's hand, he sank upon his pillow.. The sun had scarcely sunk below the horizon the attendant clouds, still in gorgeous splendour, lingered to tint with varied beauty the western heaven; the same delicious air still played around his forehead-he had spoken but an instant before, and he will never speak again, he will wake no more to rejoicing-he will no more watch for eternal refor and hail the returning spring, production of nature-no-that form of manly beauty will shortly be food for worms the fire of that eye is fled that often would persuade before his tongue gave birth to eloquence how soon will all recollec tion of him be banished from the earth the who apparently was the centre of a little world, dealing sunshine for discontent, as he directed or denied his approving glance.-It is singular to consider that a unit taken from the sum of human beings makes no alteration in the general law; and that the broken hearts of his nearest and dearest connections go for nothing in the scale of general happinessziół & 75179) & SITE. It was soon found that his sleep was that of death. Lady Seldon had given the lesson she sought to give, but not in the way she intended-her children's opinions were no longer wavering their father had confessed, unasked, that to the good atheism is not happiness he himself lamented most earnestly that he felt no belief in a future state of existence there had been for him through -life no consolatory feeling to sooth his sorrow at the death of a friend; for he had no hope in an eternal reunion- he believed that all things must have birth, and flourish, and then pass away as though they had never been-but although they clung to the hope their father was denied, yet did their religion differ greatly from Lady Seldon's; they would contend that there were better argu ments than force in favour of christianity-that it was a Christian's duty to heal, and not to wound; to forgive, and not to revile; to look with pity on those, who were denied the consolations of religion; to re gret there was one vast source of happiness unopened to them, and not to hunt them down, as is but too often the case, perverting the course of justice to satisfy implacable vengeance on victims incapable of resistance. This enlightened Christia nity they found most conducive to happiness and the sneers of the world, and the reproofs of their mother, never afterwards induced them to alter their principles. HUMANITATI AMICUS. abute blonde 97`,9lvia mesqrd to+myizse 25w Vita976qqs ONTHE-EPISTOLARY STYLE, AN our gailish blow stil & to extasa fioz su menge vaid aus 191997ibed as tastar Translated from Le Musée.”, odiy- as 1-.90msly gaivorqqs zid Lɔins5 70 THERE are few persons who experience the necessity of delivering antoration, norn of composing a dissertation or a poem: while there is scarcely an individual who has not occasion, at one time or other, to write a letter. A knowledge of letterwriting should, therefore, be placed among the elements of a useful eduscation. It is of particular importance in the education of females; for if we except the few whose minds are directed to literary pursuits, the rest require only an acquaintance with letter-writing. To them literature, properly speaking, is a mere object of curiosity, so that it is from an ignorance of the epistolary style alone, that they can experience any inconvenience. We use the word ignorance, because it is of much greater importance to them to avoid faults than to become acquainted with beauties. We seldom make any observation on a letter written in a simple style; but we cannot well avoid smiling at the affectation of excellence. Style may be termed the order in which we present our thoughts, and the manner in which we express them. The sublime style consists in grand and generous conceptions, expressed with energy and dignity; in bold and impassioned sentiments, clothed in a brilliant and lively colouring. Of this style we meet with numerous examples, in the funeral orations of Bossuet, and in the Athalia and Phaedrus of Racine. * When, on the contrary, we have only to describe the milder affections, free opinions, details incapable of elevated emotions or of daring images, we should then employ that tempered style, which interests us in Vertot, and charms us in Fenelon. † If we seek for models of the simple style, we should study Fontaine, or Sevigné. In perusing these writers, we are enchanted with that delicious negligence of manner, which captivates our attention without seeming 1 to command it; with expressions, which nature alone seems to have dictated; with that easy communication of sentiment which makes one soul known to another; and where the heart seeks not to veil itself in the mask of the understanding. The epistolary style, however, must not be supposed incapable of elevation and warmth. Of this, the Letters of Rousseau are sufficient evidences. But as they were intended for the press, they are letters more in name than in destination. They are either dissertations, or descriptions of travels, or romances, written in the epistolary form. In a word, they are works, subjected to the different laws which literature imposes on these different species of writing. We here talk only of private letters, with which the public are supposed to be unacquainted, and the sole object of which is to transmit to him, who receives them, the thoughts of the person by whom they are dictated. They are intended for those who are deprived, by their absence, of that pleasure and information which they would derive from our presence. The advantages of this distant commerce of thought is happily expressed by Eloisa, in her Epistle to Abelard, by Colardeau. * Ecris moi, je le veux. Ce commerce enchanteur, Aimable epanchement de l'esprit et du cœur, Cet art de converser sans se voir, sans 's'entendre, #1 Ce muet entretien si charmant et si L'Art d'ecrire, Abelard, fut sans doute A Par l'amante captive, et l'amant agité. definitiistolary style, *Also in the Paradise Lost of Milton. |