DEAR PAPA,-You promised to talk to me again about the history of Adam and Eve; and their eating the fruit that they were told not to eat; and how God punished them. Now there is one thing particularly, that I want to ask you about. In the second chapter of Genesis it is said, that "The Lord God said unto the man, of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat; for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die." But afterwards I read of many things that Adam did; and I suppose that he did not really die for a very long time afterwards. Will you explain this to me?

Yes, my boy. The whole of the difficulty arises merely from the habit we generally acquire, of bringing our own meanings of words with us, when we read the Bible, instead of endeavouring to learn God's meaning.

In this particular case, as in a great many others, we have adopted a habit of using the words "die" and " death," when we speak of a particular act or circumstance which ends a man's life; and because we never use it in any other sense, we foolishly imagine that it has no other meaning. But when you come to read the Bible more carefully, you will find that these words "life" and " death," are constantly employed in a much larger sense; and to mean, not a single circumstance, but a state or condition of being.

In this way Moses uses them in his last address to the Israelites.

(Ephes. ii. 1.) writes to the "I know thy

(Rom. viii. 6.) To the Ephesians he writes, "You hath Christ quickened, who were dead in trespasses and sins." So, too, St. John church in Sardis. works, that thou that thou livest, and art dead.” (Rev. iii. 1.)

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Yes, I remember to have heard many of these texts, but I never understood what they meant.

Listen to me, now, then; and I will try to give you the best explanation I can of the whole. If you read carefully the first chapters of Genesis, you will see that God is the only source of life,-that all life comes from him, that every thing that lives, whether angelic or human, or animal, or vegetable, receives life from him. He is like the fountain, to the stream; or, like the stem to the branch. Now only suppose that a branch had power to cut itself off from the tree, from which it received the sap by which it lived, you would say to that branch, You will die.' And so it would die; and its death would begin the very moment it was cut off. It might not, perhaps, wither and shrivel up in an instant; it might look as if alive for a little while; but every one that saw it would know, that it was then dying, that it was, in fact, as good as dead.

But, papa, St. Paul speaks of being "dead in trespasses and sins, ," and I suppose he means that they live so, for years and years. Is not that strange?

It seems strange, my dear boy, because we are too apt to look at the body only; and if we see that strong and lively, we can scarcely understand what is meant by its being dead. But God looks, and angels look, not so much at a man's body, as his soul. It is this which will live for ever, that they

most regard; and not the mere case of flesh and bones, in which, for a few years it may be inclosed. Now, if you look at Adam, the immortal part, or soul of Adam, you will see how truly it was said to him, "In the day thou eatest, thou shalt surely die." The very moment Adam had sinned, he shewed signs of being already spiritually dead. He ran and hid himself, when God called him. That great Being, who had made him; who had shewn such kindness towards him; who had made him an help-meet for him; who had surrounded him with all the delights and pleasures of this beautiful earth, his God and Father called him, and Adam ran and hid himself! Do not you see, at once, that death has taken possession of him. God is Life, and Light, and Love. Adam runs from these,he flees to death, and darkness, and hatred; to weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth. Death has taken possession of him already; though years may elapse before his body melts away. And it is in this way that the Apostle contemplates the Ephesians, as

having been dead in trespasses and sins.' They had been cut off from God, the Source of life; Him from whom alone, and in whom alone, we can derive and enjoy life. They had been immersed in sins, and cares, and pleasures. When God called them, they could not hear. When he made his goodness to pass before them, they could not see. When he filled their hearts with delight, or, to call them to himself, sometimes touched them with sorrow, they could not feel. And what do we say of one who cannot see, or hear, or feel, but that he is dead? Thus, then, as being cut off, by his offence, from God, as a branch is cut off from a tree, we may say that Adam died when he sinned: or, as running from God, the Fountain of life, we may view him as shewing signs of death, then actually possessing him.

But, papa, you promised to tell me of God's mercy in restoring Adam again. Will you do so now?

No, my boy, we must defer that for another day. At present you will have enough to think about, in what I have told you.

THE design of the gospel then, is not to harden the heart against the feelings of sorrow; but to sanctify that feeling, and give it a right direction; to keep it within submission to the will of God, and cheerful acquiescence in his dispensations; to check all murmuring and repining, and hard thoughts of God; to lead the believer to glorify God "in the fires" of tribulation, as well "the waters of as beside quietness;" that he may be, to the

praise of God's grace, not only on the mount of transfiguration, where all is bright around him, but also in the valley of humiliation, in the darkness of Gethsemane, when his soul is full of troubles, and the waves and the billows of trial are going over him.

'Grace does not steel the faithful heart, That it should know no ill;

We learn to kiss the chastening rod, But feel its sharpness still.'

ADJOINING the shrubbery of my beloved grandfather's parsonage, and forming its woody background, is a park, which with its hills, dingles, temples, waterfalls and avenues, surrounded the ornamental gardens and ancient family mansion of a gentleman of the name of Mansfield. At the time of my grandfather's death, when I took leave of my native village, the possessor of the estate was an elderly person, who had married late in life, and had been left a widower with two children, both infants. At my late return to this dear village, and my establishment in a beautiful lodge in their park, the infants at the Hall, whom I had often dandled in my arms, were become middleaged persons; the brother, the father of a fine family of children, as well as the father of a happy and well-regulated household and tenantry, and the sister occupying the place of a deceased mother, to her brother's children, having learned, as will hereafter appear more at large, from the long exercise of self-denial, patience in adversity, and true Christian charity, to feel towards them almost the self-same maternal feelings which natural sympathies had elicited in her bosom, and her general conduct as the hospitable lady of the mansion, prudent and kind mistress of a large family, and sympathizing dispenser of her brother's charity, silencing every jest which the thoughtless often cast upon the name and character of the old maid.

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But to return to my first recollections of Georgiana ;-I have but few of her mother. There was a shyness and stiffness in her manner, which did not render her at all agreeable to a lively girl. I remember the festivities that took place at the wedding, and the white gloves that

were sent to my sister and myself, but I remember still better the circumstances of her funeral, the long procession winding among the avenues in the park, the gloomy pageantry, the muffled bells, and the air of sadness which always reigns over a little village, when one of its heads is removed. I recollect also the funeral sermon preached by my grandfather, in which he described the deceased lady as a person who had lived from her childhood in habitual preparation for death, and whose charities were numerous and private.

My grandfather himself did not survive this lady very long, but during the intervening period, I had many opportunities of attaching myself to the two bereaved children, whose interesting circumstances as mourners for a parent, the value of whom they were incapable of appreciating, were not even then unfelt by me. The little Georgiana was fair and delicate, with soft flaxen hair shading her blue eyes, and she much resembled her mother, who had been once probably quite as pretty, before she had been disfigured in some degree by the small-pox.

The children were still the happy inhabitants of the nursery, when my poor grandfather died; Georgiana however at that period, rendering quiet submission to every indication of her brother's will. Mr. Mansfield was still actively engaged in all the duties to which he was called as a leading man in the neighbourhood, and as a possessor of a large estate, the business relative to which he chose to superintend minutely himself; but the loss of his wife had caused a shock to his constitution, from which he never wholly recovered. After I left my native village, my intercourse with my valued friend Georgiana Mansfield, was only oc

casional, yet it was sufficiently frequent to enable me to mark the meek progress of a life which humanly speaking has been unusually inoffensive, but which perhaps will afford no bad illustration of the beatitude, "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth."

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In many instances, and these important ones, I may sincerely say, that her life was for many years a series of privations. Her father's treatment of her, unlike the fathers of the present day, resembled the behaviour of Lady Jane Grey's parents, who as she said, 'pinched her and whipped her and would have her more perfect than the world was made,' and her governess was not behind hand in these respects. I see fancy I can the little girl sitting on a low stool beside her governess, her confined in the tight sleeves of a delicate chintz frock, and her fingers occupied with muslin-work, her blue eyes bent on her fine stitches, and a flaxen curl on each side shading her face, and falling on her fair neck; her voice was seldom heard except when she stood before her governess, with her hands behind her, learning by heart long columns of spelling and French vocabulary, and other lessons of repetition; back-boards and collars, and the other dismal accompaniments of former education, were not wanting in Georgiana's school-room, and yet this child was not unhappy.

If I

recollect right, St Augustine speaks of the ferrules of masters amongst the means of restraining grace, and though I believe that discipline in former days was carried too far, and in many instances broke down the spirit of the pupil, as in the case of Georgiana, whilst in others it sometimes produced a contrary effect, as was the result with her brother Arthur, yet I am of opinion that children in general were more happy and contented under the former system of education than

they now seem to be, at least in many instances; perhaps I am too old to be altogether a proper judge of the behaviour and character of a generation, from whom I am so far removed; yet I must own, that in these days I am often struck with an appearance of listlessness, or restlessness, or dissatisfaction, which I do not recollect in the children of my own days; and is not this the natural consequence of possessing liberty of which we have not yet learned the proper use?

Georgiana in her play-hours was as quiet and gentle as in her schoolroom, and her amusements bore always some connection with her lessons, and she entertained herself generally with acting a similar part towards her doll, though in a gentler mood, which was performed by her governess towards herself. Thoughtless as I then was, I often amused myself, I am ashamed to say, with laughing in her presence when we were alone together, at the peculiarities of her governess, mimicked her gestures, and uttered many expressions of sympathy with the sufferings, as I termed them, of the little girl. The child looked at me and sometimes wondered, but never that I recollect smiled at my idle jest: perhaps she did not altogether comprehend their meaning, but had her spirit resembled mine, my indiscreet language would have soon become intelligible to her.

Her brother Arthur had just been sent to school; an event which took place somewhat earlier than his father had intended, because the natural character of the boy, being totally different from that of his sister, he was not found manageable by the governess, and Mr. Mansfield was then projecting to send for the son of a widowed cousin, as a companion for himself in the absence of Arthur.

My next visit to the Mansfield family took place, when this relation had been resident several years

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and became completely naturalized amongst them; and though I have never seen him since that period, his image is perfectly fresh in my mind. He was one of those feminine and elegant boys, which one might have drawn upon a screen, clining upon the grass amongst sheep, playing upon a pipe, and a crook dressed with flowers lying by his side. He had been educated by a widowed mother, who must have had a polished, cultivated mind, however destitute of wealth and rank. He possessed a remarkable sweetness and readiness to oblige, and though at that time he certainly was not influenced by a spirit of genuine religion, I was informed that he had been trained in the purest principles of morality, a morality which is beautiful enough till it is brought to any severe test. Had he been a few years older, his general behaviour to the friends with whom he resided, might have been considered as the result of duplicity and deep design, but I believe myself that in the outset it was nothing more than the simply genuine fruit of his own natural character. Theodore,

for that was the young man's name, was totally opposed in disposition to the blunt and vehement charactor of his cousin Arthur, and was so much easier to control, in fact requiring no control at all, that he recommended himself immediately to Mr. Mansfield, who often felt that he had entered too late in life upon parental duties, to be able to discharge them as he ought to-` wards his impetuous son; with Theodore he had only to express a wish, and it was instantly complied with, or rather the boy seemed to anticipate his wishes. Mr. Mansfield provided that he should occupy a few hours every morning with the curate of the parish, in order to prepare him for some situation in life which the old gentleman had an indistinct idea of his filling at some future pe

riod.

Mr. Mansfield always spent

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his mornings in his wainscoated parlour with his bible and his favourite books, unless otherwise employed by business from which he was beginning to disengage himself. When these occupations were concluded, Theodore was emancipated from his tutor, and Georgiana from her governess, and were ready to accompany him in his walk or airing. A few hours after an early dinner Georgiana spent alone with her governess, and the rest of the day was past with her father and Theodore; she busy with her needle, and Theodore reading aloud. The governess indeed was quently present on these occasions, and always joined the party at meals; but she was one of those persons, whose eyes are usually shut, save to what falls immediately under them; and she saw only the manner in which Georgiana held herself, or how she played, or how she worked. It was not so with me. I had not been two days in the house upon this occasion, before I was aware that the situation of Georgiana was far more perilous than she was at all aware of, though as to mere outward enjoyment, it had been the most prosperous period of her life; she had always feared her brother too much to be quite happy in his company, much as she loved him ; and to speak the truth, Arthur was at that time too fond of his own way, and too much addicted to teasing and tyrannizing to be a very agreeable companion to a timid sister; whilst Theodore, much as he loved obliging Mr. Mansfield, was still more attentive to the wishes of his gentle, unpresuming cousin, whom it might have pleased any body to oblige, and if it was in his power he always chose the book to read which he thought she would like, and he would climb rocks and hills to gather for her a nosegay of wild flowers, or a wreath of honeysuckles or con