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*ervant. Horatio started, his imagination eagerly interpreted these words to have been spoken of Amelia, and he could scarcely restrain the anguish of his feelings from loud exclamation and complaint. “My lord’s conseience grows unusually troublesome,'continued the servant ; ; he has ordered me again to enquire after her health, and to provide for the funeral of the child; would she were safe in America for to be sure, her father is the best old man that ever lived ’’ ‘ It is well 1, cried Horatio. ‘Did you call sir? said the hostess, opening the door. The servant took this opportunity of withdrawing and Horatio silently followed him, at a distance, till he arrived at the habitation of Amelia, in the critical moment which enabled him to save the life he had given, and to rescue his deluded-daughter from - the desperate sin of suicide.
When Horatio returned to the inn, after discharging the last solemn duties to the departed infant, the landlord presented a letter to him, which a servant had just left at the bar, and asked if he was the Person to whom it was addressed. As soon as Horatio had cast his eye upon the superscription, he exclaimed, ‘What mystery is this? a letter left for my son Honorius at an inn in London.' He eagerly seized the paper, and retiring into an adjoining chamber, he perused its contents with increased amazement and agitation.
his finity to Amelia,the persever ing hypocrite artfully insinuated to the commander in chief, that Honorious meditated an ascape, and obtained an order for his imprisonment on board a frigate, which sailing suddenly for England, he was lodged upon his arrival, in the common gaol, appropriated for the confinement of American prisoners. Here it was, however, that he acquired the informatioo of Amelia's elopement, and heard , the cause to which it was imputed, from the captured master of an American vessel, who had formerly been employed in the service of Horatio, and had received the communication from the lil's of his ancient patron, in the first moments of his grief. The fate which had unexpectedly led him to Britain, Honorious now regard
ed as the minister of his revenge.
He frowned away the tears which started at the recital of his sister’s wrongs, as if ashamed to pity till he had redressed them ; and feeling, upon this occasion, an additional motive for solicittng his freedom, he employed the interest of Horatio's name, which notwith
standing the political feuds that prevailed, was sufficient, at length, to procure his discharge upon parole. Having easily learned the abode of Doliscus, he immediately addressed that note to him which produced the answer delivered to Hootio.
‘mer of these points,
rise one above another.
is of a mixed and comprehensive nature. To describe it at large, is not my design. The attempt would lead into a discussion much too dry and uninteresting. If possible, I would engage your attention to truth, and your hearts to goodness, in a different way : by sentiment, pursuasion, and the native influence of fraternal counsel. Come, then, my sisters, and hearken to a brother, while he endeavours to show you on one side those things which you ought principally to shun, in order to the maintaining of your sobriety ; and to point out on the other that positive discipline, which must co-operate for this purpose. At prescnt we can only undertake the forBut, before we proceed to that, let me desire you to take notice with what propriety the apostle’s ideas seem to He be
gins with that which is most di, rectly obvious, and the very first precaution to be observed, modesty of Apparel. Then he mentions shamefacedness ; which, though sometimes less apparent, yet one observing cannot fail of recommending itself to every eye, and without which decency of garb is merely affectation. Shamefacedness, as he has marked it, appears like a kind ef finer covering, the virgin veil of chastity, to be thrown over all the rest. But that it may be a veil in the best sense, a holy veil, and no mask, he subjoins sobriety, as the more inward habit (so to speak) which must support and give value to the whole ; or, drop the metaphor, as that eter
nal and prevailing character, by f
which every part of a woman's dress and demeanor must ever be regulated. Now to cultivate this character, it is of infinite conse
In the first place, to avoid damgerous connexions. If that be not done, what is there on earth, or in heaven, that can save you? Of miraculous interposition I think not at present. She can have no right to expect it, who throws herself into the broad way of temptation. What those dangerous connexions are, it may not be always easy to explain, when it becomes a question in a real life. Unhappily for young women, it is a question sometimes of very nice decision. Cases there are, in which nothing can be clearer. The man
that behaves with open rudeness; the man that avowedly laughs at virtue ; the man that impudently pleads for vice ; such a man is to be shunned like a rattle-sneke.— In this case, “the woman that deliberates is lost. What! would you parley with the destroyer, when he gives you warning : Then you are not ensnared ; you knowingly and wilfully expose yourselves. If you be poisened, if you
be lost; your folly is without excuse, and your destruction without alleviation.
But in this manner none wiłł proceed, except wretches alike licentious and imprudent. Of artful men the approaches will be silent and slow, all will be soft insinuation. Or else they will put on a blunt face of seeming good humour, the appearance of honest. frankness, drawing you to every scene of dissipation, with a kind of obliging violence, should violence of any kind be necessary.— If they be also agreeable in their persons, or lively in their conversation; above all, if they wear the air of gentlemen, which unfortunately for your sex, is too often the case ; then indeed your danger is extreme. Thus far, the trap is concealed. You apprehend nothing ; your unsuspecting hearts. begin to slide. They are gone before you are aware. The men 1 am speaking of perceive their advantage the moment it appears. I have supposed them destitute of If they be also uncheck
ed by fear, what can preserve you? A sense of reputation ? the cread of ruin & Perhaps they may ; but perhaps not. They have often, no doubt, come in to prevent the last exeess. And, but for such restraints, what would become of Imany a woman who is not under that best one, religious principle : The experiment, however, you will own, is hazardous. Multi
tudes have trusted to it, and been undone.
But do these, who, in the world's sense, are not undone, escape, think ye, unhurt; unhurt in their health and spirits; in their serenity and self enjoyment ; in their sobriety of mind, and habits of self controul ? You cannot think it. Very seldom, at least, can you suppose, that, where there is much sensibility of temper, an ill placed passion shall not leave behind it, in a youthful breast, great disorder, and deep disquietude.
virtue 2 May you not learn, if you
Another thing, no less abominable, I cannot forbear to mention.—
dies, who pass for women of repu-
in the world ! What a palpable
tempt to pull down, in appearance,
parti ion that divides them from
|| the most profligate of their sex;
How common is it to see young la
light, both natural and spiritual, there streams a sight, which lighteth every one that cometh into the world. Whoever loves that which is good, and just and true, and desires to act a virtuous part in his place allotted to him in this world, whether high or low, may be assured of the blessing of Heaven, displaying itself, not, perhaps, in wordly riches or honours, but in something infinitely more valuable —a secret influence upon his heart and understanding, to direct his conduct, to improve his nature, and to lead him, though in the lowly vale, yet along the path of peace.
‘PHE coff FORT'S OF RELIGION.
When the fury of the storm increases to its utmost height, when the thunder rolls over the heads of assighted mortals, and when the
It is the delight and charm of literature, that it affords us a refuge from the tumults and contentions. of active life. Montesquieu says that he never knew a sorrow which an hour's reading would not assuage. Show us the country where it depends on the eloquence of a Demostenes to determine whether to march or not against Philipand the man will in due time appear, who, like him, will make the chains of the tyrant resound in the cars of his countrymen, till they like the Athenians, involuntarily start up to oppose him. Nature herself has furnished us with many allurements, which overpower virtue, & #wilher asleep