and explore a part of the country he had never seen before.

It led him up a narrow glen that seemed as if it had been rent asunder by some sudden convulsion of nature. As he advanced, it grew wilder and wilder, and assumed a character of savage beauty he had rarely seen before. Probably the foot of man had seldom visited it, for the birds of solitude seemed to have taken it for their own. The owl, the osprey, and the eagle, fled at his approach; the trees seemed almost coeval with the rocks on which they grew; and at times their meeting branches cast the deepest gloom on the dark slow stream beneath.

He had walked on many miles and had made so many turnings that he was lost in conjecturing where it would lead to, when he found the glen abruptly terminated by a steep mountain that raised its head high above the neighbouring rocks, and was crowned by a grove of ancient palm-trees, while the stream whose course he had been pursuing, broke over the top of it with the most impetuous

grandeur and raised a cloud of foam. He was lost in wonder at the amazing scene, and though he knew not whether he was advancing nearer home or receding farther from it, he immediately determined to climb the height. As he got near the top he heard strange noises which he could not account for, but his surprise soon changed to horror and pity when he saw an idol raised up on high, and a multitude of deluded people offering sacrifice with songs and dances, and all the mysterious rites of iniquity. His heart sickened at the sight. What then must his emotions have been, when he saw amongst the crowd his wife and infant child. His agony was so great, that Pythonissa appeared touched with remorse, and solemnly promised never to attend any of those assemblies again. She kept that promise, yet Patrobus had reason to fear that it was more from regard to him than to God.

Though this discovery of his wife's idolatry, shed bitter into his cup of life, yet he was thankful that he knew of it; for it made him much more careful than he otherwise

would have been to take every opportunity of instilling true religion into the mind of his child, and it made him keep her more constantly with himself than he would have thought it right to have done, had her mother been equally disposed to lead her in the way in which she should go. He vigilantly detected, and affectionately exposed every evil principle of action, however playfully concealed beneath all her winning ways of childhood, and taught her to consider no thought, or word, or deed, as too trivial for the notice of God. Thus Sephora owed her earliest lessons of piety to her father, he formed her infant mind, and the Almighty blessed his labour and breathed into it the breath of life.

Pythonissa thought he gave himself a great deal of unnecessary trouble in all this, yet she herself had reaped, and was now reaping, in a more especial manner the fruit of those instructions which she secretly despised.

Sephora's continual thought was how to make her mother happy. She endeavoured to appear cheerful, that she might not excite her jealousy, by giving her reason to suppose

that all her own happiness was buried in her father's tomb. She resolved, if it were possible, not even to see her parent's failings, and studiously to avoid every thing that had a tendency to irritate her temper; to take upon herself all the domestic cares that seemed to fatigue her, and to try once more to spread an air of contentment and peace round their desolate dwelling. These were the resolutions that she formed, and for being able to fulfil them, she trusted in him from whom all holy desires, all good counsels, and all just works must proceed. Her neighbours, and even Pythonissa, whom it was difficult to please, acknowledged that she fulfilled her filial duties perfectly, and doubted not but that God would bless her for it; while she herself felt there was so much of sin even in her best actions, that they must shrink from the observation of infinite purity, and call for mercy rather than reward.

CHAPTER III.

SEPHORA had soon no need to make an effort to appear cheerful, for she really was so, and in resigning herself entirely to the will of God, and striving to do the duties of that station in which she was placed, she found an animated peace that must be felt to be understood.

She was now full of household cares, she pressed the olive for its oil; and the grape for its gladdening juice; or dried its gathered clusters in the sun. She drew milk from the flock; cast her net into the stream; took honey from the hives; and cleansed their raiment in the brook.

This last employment, by which many of our menials would think themselves degraded, was formerly among the occupations of king's daughters and Sephora was never better pleased with her day's work, than when she unloosed their little ass from its