lIfOITICT ST. LAWEENCE. • This fiction is as remarkable in its

way as Alton Leckc, though widely different from that work in subject, purpose, and treatment. Whatever may have been the case formerly, the writer of Mount St. Lawrence is now an enthusiastic Romanist, or rather a Ro- manist who sees in thempapal Church nothing but what a zealous,a tender, and an ardent desires to see. By a process of meta- morphosis, not uncommon among lovers, the real is exaltcal into the ideal ; that which is common to many is made peculiar to one, and the claim to excellence which distinguishes all religions is confidently represented as attained by the Church of Rome. The frame of mind that falls into these notions is one that seems to argue • Mount St. Lawrence. By the Author of " Mazy the Star of tbe Sm." In low volumes. Published by Longman and Co. great unworldliness and inexperience, as well as a subjection of the reason to the fancy. Such, however, is not the case, unless when the merits of the Church come into ,view. A keener e.ye lia.s rarely scrutinized the conduct and character of well‘meanuig but weak or worldlymindcd Catholics, or painted them with mere nice dis- crimination er a truer touch. The indifferent and worldly among the Protestants are linineCI with equal truth and with darker lints';-- or rather, more selfish and worldly peisons are selected for delinea- tion. The knowledge of human nature shown is considerable; in the traits which : separate the masculine from the 'feminine charac- ter, even when bath 'atic,tenjointly pursuing"the'etintet object and not scrupulous tie to t4e,Mecinjac '40,1tle40e341100-6111 pro- found, and the :developmetat4 yrtatustiii: Ogkami.0-14;epi- ployed to break off one:engagement and forward wither ere„sie clever, and so well adapted to their end, that they could hardly: have been invented save by a woman or a priest. To these quali- fications in the -writer are joined as much religious liberality as it is possible for an ardent Romanist to possess—a full in- terpretation is given to the doctrine of " invincible ignorance" as regards salvation beyond the pale; the logic is mostly sound and searching on morals or social practices—it fails only in reference to the Church ; the work is fall of matter drawn from observation or study, and appropriate to the subject ; the style is full and flowing, and possesses a quiet and easy strength. As a fiction deeply interesting in its story and carrying the reader rapidly along, Mount St. Lawrence is not equal to the qua- lifications the writer possesses. This arises from the religious object, through which truth is sacrificed to a didactic purpose.

i

The modes in which this imperfection is shown are various. The basis of the subject is narrow; the persons whom the writer admires the most are too cold, too saintly, too stiff, or too weak, to excite strong sympathy in the reader; whenever the spirituality and spiritual power of the Church is in question, an inconsistency creeps in, which, we suspect, would mar _the interest of the reader if the feelings were even more deeply interested. The me- thod of treatment interferes with the march. It is narrative And essay intermingled : the observation of a speaker in a dialogue, Or the actions of a person, are continually followed by moral and religious reflections. It is true, these are so appropriate to the scheme and purpose of the writer, that they are not felt as inter- ruptions, in the way such things usually are, and they have an in- terest of their own, like that of an essay or a sermon : 'these cir- cumstances, however, show that the common story of the novelist was not the main object of the writer. In a certain sense, this main object may be described as an at- tempt to inculcate the maxim, that a sense of our duty to God (as only truly expoended by the Romish Church) should be primarily present to the mind, and influence our othiduct as well as our thoughts. This large moral, however, is not directly illus- trated, but only enforced by occasional reflections. From the [story we glean that a nunnery should be the primary object in life to a woman; that a father's wish to marry a daughter who may have hinted some childish liking for the vocation is a sin ; that to use his paternal influence, merely carried to the expression of a wish, is calculated to bring down punishment both on father and daughter ; that for a Romanist to mingle with Protestant society exposes him to all sorts of temptations, through our laxities and forms, and his politeness ; that confession brings the mind more to regard and control its thoughts ; and that the compulsory observations of stated offices compels more regularity than the optional attendance of Anglicans,—though it is not shown in the book how a lax Romanist can be made to attend them. There are some other topics essentially of a controversial nature ; and the usual controversial advantage is taken, but really for a. contro- vertist revelling in fiction the writer is very fair. If a pack of worldly Nothingarians, compelled from their position to attend the parish-church, are put forward as representing Protestants, and the covert " spiritual pride " of the Tractarians is exhibited in a 'snubbed and subdued. governess, three of the professing Catholics 'are by no means perfect characters. Of course the submission of the English clergyman to the lord of the parish is not lost sight of, Int we hear nothing of the Roma.nist priestly domination. In- deed, clergymen of any sect scarcely appear in the book. The story in which the writer's • views are embodied is this. ttolonel O'Donnell, a " tepid " Romanist, is anxious to have his 'daughter Rose marry his adopted son Horace Ferrers. Horace has all good qualities save strength of mind and vital religion ; and there is no difficulty with him. Rose has had some thoughts of becoming a nun, but easily yields to the expressed wish of her father. For "various reasons "—the only weak point in the con- duct of the story—Colonel O'Donnell does not wish the engagement immediatel' announced. As circumstances call him away, Horace goes to visit his travelling companion Emilius St. Lawrence, at Mount St. Lawrence, the seat of Lord Staplemore, the father of Emilius. Here another match has been made up, with greater dis- parity of persons and with less justifiable motives. A niece and ward. of Lord Staplemore, Violet Mandeville, is to possess sixty thousand pounds when she comes of age ; his lordship, who is poor, wishes to -keep this sum in the family, and manages to engage her to his middle-aged son by a former marriage. A sort of sentiment- al flirtation or attachment springs up between Horace and Violet; Lord St. Lawrence, a formal and punctilious but chivalrously honourable man, has his attention called to the probable state of Violet's feelings, by his sister Mary, and offers to release her. This offer is made circuitously ; and by a series of clever arts on the part of those to whom it is intrusted, the chivalrous conduct of St. Lawrence is made to seem oommenplace.,:. However, the match is broken off; Rost; sits thy gfe' :,.: 8-In salt.' i :. .-4s. him, ritrehl%gi and looks upOtt ir'4,19':0010#6. , Otte.' . i :irtl'sf.y km, g a heavenly for an eitrWit,ispenie.„, : . , . ,,A4r,s4.. ; [kii.t,-Piolet

having found!out the engageutentut ' ere is :kiln too ; and the last we hear of him is that he halt. fallen "' into the

ve d,"tind' tiffienglit itlithiii-irieletwilifiti gfilk' iiikiS; whqthe eie d ' niire"of 'gitir'" Setae of the' other- iiersonisi ' ;: some ar0 Con- ChuZchi 1.44,49#4..A48 SATift IIKAAelsi:471-44.0WIRSIMPFliitifs: in- stead of lerototaplemere.,b;,..i ,Jn;T aid 911.1W.Ott . aetm of 89071 ad , iitwill be seenitlitittlielline anoraliti esoialairetarefttiertalthiet

religions, and to telltfieuitiloatniticle-tilk, . ,., ''''PArheltsitist-

WO the sW ift IttOit4tintA ..il `ito .... it iiisri+s its flop,I, effect. It is,noi„ 414i041,41;iii .11, g.gt, 4,:, Sieflifieirnee should be eon vitutsaii apieture, ,, flitsi , . ., ' ,- • rooter inone of our social aspects, and as a series of comments thereupon, partaking of the natured the essay and the stermon,:--both classes of comments written by a person who is accustomed to look at action, behaviour, and thought, with a reference to Christian perfection. The style of manners:and general tone at Mount St. Lawrence seems rather characteristic-of the squire than the peer ; but in other respects we have a very true and finished'seties Of:sketches. The motive of the writer—the exposition of the sin and hollowness of the worldly— gives a breadth, and purpose which mere sketches of society are too .superficial to attain. In like manner,lhe religious, moral, and frequently the metaphysical nature of the remarks, endue them with a farce and' freshness which the reflections of a common no- velist very seldom reach. . As with many other writers, clia,ranter-drawing. is frequent with this author ; but it is not common eharacter-drawmg. In addition to a moral purpose, there is depth and metaphysical science in what he does. The 'following analysis of Horace 'will not only serve as an example of the writer in this line, but as a species of prelude to the manner of the story.

"It has been seen that Colonel,O'Donnell had had the guardian:ship from tender youth of the son of a dear friend. Young Horace Ferrero gave early promise of talent,, was quick of apprehension, and gifted with much sweet- ness of temper, as well no with naturally engaging manners and considerate tact. To set Against this, an obse.rV, , of human nature might have noted, i

that though he outstripped those of ,own age in the acqui,sition of know- ledge and even frequently in a sh ' ,14,ine seemed to know ,as.mti, 4 Ohio ten, yet lie wanted perseverance, is well as that true reIt ee r. the* g and its teachers which those wbo make the most go 4', ,lasting Progress usually evince. , Everything was so easy, and there ore' e"srdrything was really held of little accourit; ",Everything, iii.fact, was on the surface easy to him; and _Horace, who had tale4htqUickness, and penetration, was deficient in depth.: Ills own waat'of, ' he transferred, therefore, to the subject he was .engaged upon, and made sus power of realization of it the measure of its Want of depth, and largeness of comprehension is a fault much less perceptible to the person himself, than slowness of apprehen- sion- moreover, application will supply in a great measure for defect in the latter, while nothing will compensate for the absence of the former. Nothing will compensate intellectually for it ; morally it may,. indeed, find ample compensation ;but if there he shallowness in the moral nature also thq,cose is indeed a bad one_ yet heye, again, an accurate i observer might lffvel'himd cause for alarm - he might haidfeared that there was more gentleness and sweetness, in-th4.temper than warnithorsteadiness in the affections, and more of natural, taSta, li*ga, and repupiances in his tact, than of a higher pru- dence or A thoughtful charity. yre might have noticed:also, that although there was no striking deficiency in truthfulness, yet there was more desire to Avoid what was amplefeutet, than*, seek, what was good; that there was a somewhat languid want ccr.clilum*and heel admiration of what ryas purely right • that the true, , inst, and .tire , was not always the'first, nor !T3r, Perhaps, the m !pro , t sismotii,e. which matters were regarded ntaneously by him. And Ye this same 'Observer would at times be M- ato lieuitatej, far, all this ra ,betrayed,Atelf negatively than 'al& itself positively ; and as *ha„assunie axesitiye shape was certainly _Redact ,far as it went, charity,cnidi o e would; nine that the rest was latent, and only awaited cleyelopuien let wi Bose who are thoughtful a real blessing, compared to the absence of any l) trainerisieaviuth deem the ,prosenee of two or three decided faults (for. we are notspeaking of vices comfortable assurance of the soundness and vigour of the more essential Alements of moral goodness. Faults we know how to deal with; deficiencies confound us.” The conversations have that quality which distinguishes all good dialogues-l-an: appropriateness of subject And ,mannaNi t91the characters of the speakers, with a spirit of life and.. " ape:: but they •have more—they display 1131, end, and bear,npen Mie-,-va- rieus graver questions that are more or less direetly,uaovink so- ciety. This is part of a discourse that takes place between Colonel

,

V.-Donnell, Rose, and Horace, just before the latter sets out for Mount St. Lawrence. . "After a short pause, Colonel O'Donnell, started a fresh topic, addressing himself to Horace : ' How did you and young St. Lawrence get on together?' " 'Oh, capitally,' replied Horace; 'nothing could have done better.. We suited each other particularly well. Not that we are much alike ; but that perhaps was all the better : he amused sic and_he.said I kept him in geed- humour. There is something odd about tinnier; he is very clever in his way, but he is by no means popular, He is a little satirical and takes no plans to please, generally speaking; but I.foinict him a very pleasant com- panion, and never had a disagreealle word with him.' . 'Ism glad you suited so well,' replied the Colonel; ' it is an acquain- tance which I think will prove an advantage to you, and which I am anxious you should improve by extending it to the rest of the family. I am slightly acsjuainted us intodwith Lord Staplemore, .butnothing further.' gave me a very cordial invitation to Hount St. Lawrence,' re- joined Horace ; 'so there will be no difficulty about that.'

"'Did there seem any hopes of Mr. St, Lawrence's conversion ?' asked Rose : ' during all those months, vou must have had many opportunities of hearing his sentiments, and perhaps many.of pressing the subject upon him.

Horace laughed, and said, 'You don't know Flailing, or you would never ask the question. Convert him! why, you Must find out first what you have to convert him from. "

" 'Buoutgh?' you know what you have to convert him to,' replied Rose ; is not that en " Well, you might be cleverer at it than I should be,' rejoined Horne ; but I should not consider him a very promising subject. He would grant, for example, all your arguments against Protestantism in a moment. He holds it as cheap as I do ; indeed, he always goes to mass in preference, if he can, and says the service of his own church bores him to death ; and I fancy he never attends it except' when at Mount St. Lawrence. He says, besides, that Catholicism is the telly 'consistent religion, and that it appeals to man's

real nature, which no :ether does.' : • " I am quite pur4ledj said, Rose there surely must be some hopes of him, if h ijs e,nereesthn deep Tony pf our faith, siid loves to join in our woiship.

" "Ofkinel,InidtuthVillthtelfgq9nliouid think,' replied Horace. ' I knew why he goes to mass : because his taste is pleased with the -mini* the /vest, ment4itheilightediteinhensee the pemp..,410:1•Bayiethere is a dignity/ about fib; 'taut Willi *gni ft -04111sillPidiv rffAc4tal4ti Mrfl9ni 41fles. Vowt9t11111p, MP%

e eilufve aetua gion ; soniething a ful',4oLietliing %Vertigo at the damethim. But hew ban a prosy conversation between's clergyman snide clerk and a few squeaking -childreuever call up anything but ,yawn from those who don't think, and contempt from those who do ? No; if we must have forms, let them be grand and noble forms. Those who invented these ceremonies knew human nature well.' Then he says, too, that religion will never have any hold on the vulgar without its special obijarvances; and that here the Catholic religion s the Protestant,' which enforces nothing, and so never makes

itself supplying only a bundle of opinions and a little wishy-washy

advice.'

" 'But what, then, after all does he really believe?' resumed Rose : ' does he think that these forms which he adunr,es arc after' all only a mere pageant,' Well calculated to delight the senses ; or does lie think there is any- thing mote in them?' • • . - •

• "Negihing more, I should imsigione,' replied Horace. He is a sovereign disbeliever in all sacramental grace and sacerdotal power.' "‘,‘,Tloken,ho is an unbeliever alteg-ether, I fear,' replied Rose, with a look of horror, and only thinks one religion More artfully planned than another to entrap mankind.' "'Not so, quite, either,' interposed Horace : I do not think it would be fair to say thatEmiliwi was ant actual unbeliever--indeed I am sure it would not ; but how naueli, he re..ally.,helds beyond what may be called mere natural religion I can't say. My idea would be, that lie believes that when you have deducted everything of, form both in outward observance and 'in doc- trine, there is a sort of Msiduum which survives—the kernel of religion as it were, which these ferule more or less perfectly embody for the generality, who are not able to go -further and see things in a deeper way. Still I should suppose that he held the leading facts of Christianity, as related in the New Testament, to be true; but somehow I do not think they are very present to him as realities; he habitually regards them, I should say, more as principles, intended to haire -a 'certain moral effect I certainly, however, never heard him laugh at the New Testament, though I have repeatedly heard him do so at the Old : butl really do' not know what is the extent of his religions creed, and I do not feel sure' that I ever analyzed it so closely before as your questions have led -0343 to do.' " Latitudinarianism is, I apprehend, very common among Pro- testants,' remarked Colonel O'Donnell, especially among. men. Women, hi whom' feeling generally predominates over the reasoning faculty, and whose natural timidity makes them recoil from startling conclusions, usually erect a ffimay kind of barrier betweetithem and this monster, which keener intellects and bolder thinkers would see through and despise. They buildup something to represent the principle of authority -they they either personify the Church of England in the shape of some respected individual& individuals, or they fill up the frightful gap with the Bible, believing confidently, I sup- pose, that it flew down with a couple of wings from heaven, or some such self-evident mark of authority.'

" It is a happy inconsistency,' said Rose. How thankful we ought to feel, that so many persons are better than• they would be if they carried out What they hold, and that their hearts are so much sounder than 'their lieads!' •

That is quite true,' replied her father; 'quite true as respects indivi- aiatii.) And yet we have to thank the Latitudinarians for all the concessions we have been able, after years of persecution, to wring from' Protestant in- tolerance. Every point we have gained has been through the spread of this spirit.' " `It may be so,' said Rose ; and yet I cannot persuade myself but that what is really so thoroughly unbelieving a spirit, must be at heart more fiercely oppbsed to the true faith than the bitterest sectarianism, which per- mits of still holding some positive belief. Surely the Latitudinarians are only favourable to us, at present, because their active hatred is excited' by the bigotry and privileges of another body ; but when the day corneicas come I simposo it will, when all Ore on a level as far as respects worldly simport—for that seems what things are tending to—unbelief will then look about it as it has elsewhere, and soon know that the Catholic faith is its real

and hereditary 'foe?' ' . • • -

It may be' a queStion whether the writer has much capability for exhibiting scenes of passion ; the religious spirit of the book keeping nearly clear of violent emotional displays. In force there is no deficiency, and whatever the 'occasion may be the writer is always equal to it. The following is the scene in which Mary St. Iewrenee breaki to her brother her opinion of the unsuit- ableness of the match.

"The brother and sister had now reached the beach; *here the prospect was in harmony with the disposition just described. It looked cold and cheerless and unlovely, like Mary's heart. There was a foretaste of winter in the chilly October afternoon. 'Lord St. Lawrence shivered, buttoned up his coat, and.remarked that he wondered at Mary's taste, for that the beach was not very teMpting`this cold evening; and that, for his part, he voted for returninghome. " Mary was looking straight out to sea with a vacant eye, for her thoughts were direethd inwards ; and, without turning to her brother or noticing•his observation, she simply replied, St. Lawrence, I had something to say to you—something I was anxious to say to you before your departure : you leave us early tomorrow, do you not ?' "Her brother assented.

" 'What I feel myself obliged to say will be painful to you, I know; but it is necesanry. Remember, however, that I only am responsible for it ; I am neither the mouthpiece of another, nor the retailer of what I have heard. St. Lawrence,' she then added, and turning round, she faced her brother, am convinced that Violet does not love you.' - " The colour mounted to St. Lawrence's face till it tinged his very brow : but he answered with some calmness, Not with a romantic affection, I am aware ; but this I do not expect. Where the difference of age is as great as in our case, the affection partakes perhaps more of the filial character on the part of the younger.'

not.. Areum from high, mar,. the great bulk of ill

" 'I sin no great judge of filial affection,' replied Mary, with somewhat of a cold and melancholy sneer ; ' but I think it would puzzle any one to discover in Violet affection of any character towards you. I have observed her now for some time, and I am convinced.' " Your proofs, your proofs !' repeated Lord St. Lawrence, almost angrily. "'Rather I might ask,' rejoined Mary calmly, ' what proofs can you ad- duce of her love

" Violet,' replied St. Lawrence, is a peculiar person; highminded, and Kifted with strong and energetic rather than soft and tender feelings. Be- eve me, I know her well, and how to interpret her behaviour. At the same time, however, that I can give no weight to what you say, I am obliged to you, MELT, for your wish to set me on my guard ; but if all you have to point out is. the absence of any sentimental display, of affection towards me, voe assure yea that I- amperfectly as of this fact, and that it is not to me,the slightest wares 9f uneasiness?. " 'lint is that ell ?' persevered Mary. Do yen' reckon for nothing the' unkindly ridicule with which she so often insifficeely assails you'? Do you- reckon tor nothing the uninterested' manner with which she habitually re. plies' to any remark you address to her Does her face brighten at the sight of you,? Does she seem to feel or lament your absence ? Does the mere want of sentimentality account for what occurred but the other even- ing ? Were you blind not to see that she endeavoured to avoid sitting next you ; and that George so well understood it, that, with his usual silly good- nature, he lent himself to second the attempt?'

"Lord St. Lawrence winced, and bit his lip.. "Mary continued : As long as I could imagine that all this cold beha- viour had no personal reference to you, but belonged to her nature, it was not for me to speak. If you were satisfied, that was sufficient. But the last two da_ys have aroused a suspicion in me.' " What do you mean ?' asked Lord St. Lawrence, with some excitement.

" No more than I say,' rejoined Mary : so do not put a deeper meaning on my words than they are meant to bear. But I have seen Violet look animated and interested in the society of another, as I never saw her look in yours ; I have seen an indescribable something, which has alarmed my pride for you. You are angry, I see, "at my making such a suggestion ; but do not answer me till you have heard me out. I mean to bring no amuse- tMn against Violet of the nature you suspect. She is herself far too proud and highminded to suffer the slightest imputation to rest upon her : but could you bear to see her, as your wife, lavishing smiles upon others which you never share ? singing for others, playing for others ? gratified, soothed, excited by their praiser while your commendation falls coldly on her our P bright, animated, and interested when others speak ; cold, languid, and in- different when it is you who address her? Oh, St. Lawrence, could you bear this ?'

"The blood mounted again more vividly to St. Lawrenco's face till every vein stood out distinctly on his forehead. No, I cannot believe it!' he ex- claimed, compressing his lips, and clenching his hand convulsively; I can- not believe that Violet is so utterly unworthy of the affection I have be- stowed upon her for so long,—Yiolet, whom I have regarded with suoh un- qualified admiration end such indulgent affection' to whom it has been my pride and my satisfaction to ,offer little short of homage ; surely it is im- possible that a mere youth, a stranger, an acquaintance of two days, can have deprived me of that interest in her affections, which I think, without presumption, I may say I in some meaaure have merited " ' Stop,' said Mary; you misunderstand me, as I feared you would. I do not think that this young Ferrers has or can as yet have won any place in her heart ; still less that he has diverted from you any feelings winch be- fore flowed in your directian. I do not think that such exist, or ever exist : a cold esteem and a kind of reasonable gratitude, which warms not her heart though it may influence her conduct, is all, I am assured, that she has ever entertained for you. But what I do think—and my observations have confirmed me in this persuasion—is, that she could feel much more— as who perhaps is there that could not ?—and that she is not guarded from the danger of such feelings being hereafter awakened, by any, real or solid affection for you. Violet is young, and knows not as yet the depths of her own heart, or what may lurk there ready to be called forth. You are proud, St. Lawrence, and that pride at present centres in her, and sees, or will see, no faults; but remember, Violet is proud toe. Believe me, when married to her, you will be dissatisfied. do not for a moment suspect that she will

ever stoop to be,guilty of an unworthy of her, or derogatory to her :

but will this content you ? o, you may be sure it will not ; and then you will complain, as you will think you have a right to do ; and Violet will re- sent it, and despise you for it, and take it as an insult to herself; and when the pride of your two hearts conies to clash with each other, believe me there will be misery enough in -store for you. She will believe herself to have discharged all debt of gratitude, all obligations of honour, by becoming your wife, and by conducting herself respectably as such ; and to expect anything more from her, she will regard either as the dictate of a tyrannical temper or of an injurious suspiciousness: "Mary was silent. St. Lawrence had sat down upon the beach, and bu- ried his face in his hands, while something seemed to be working .fearfully within. His sister watched him quietly, but with a certain anxiety. At last he spoke, and with more calmness than she had ventured to hope.

". 'De you think, Mary, that Violet wishes to break off her engagement

"Mary hesitated for a moment, as if she scarce knew how to frame her reEdy,;_ and then answered, Of her wishes I cannot speak, or tell you any- thing.; but it is my own conviction that it is to • fulfil her proraise that she marries you, and not with any view to secure her own happmess: . Why, then, did she accept me ?' replied St. Lawrence. Did I not giro her time for consideration—nay, beg and entreat her to consider? Vio- let has neither a light nor a thoughtless disposition; she is one of decided opinions and decided conduct. She must have weighed everything, I am certain ; and her determination must have been the result of reasonable and calm. conviction.'

" There, I think,,you are mistaken,' replied Mary. Violet has,. it is true, decided opiniona, and an energetic mode of expressing them ; she is also im- moveable where some principle of her own is concerned. But her will is not so unbending where neither her pride nor her sense of honour are aroused ; nay, it is easily—perheps far too easily—moved by persuasion. Whatever may have been her motives for entering into this engagement, I can readily conceive that this net act on her part might be anything but the result of rea- sonable and calm conviction.'

"St. Lawrence looked up. The colour had now faded from his cheek, and there was what seemed like the trace of a tear upon it. Mary gazed wistfully at him ; for something like the tenderness of pity crept over her as she considered his countenance, hovering between youth and middle age, al- ready furrowed with the lines which it begins to plant there, and to which his haggard look of Sadness now gave an older appearance, and reflected that a disappointment at that age is not a paining grin 4 but is commonly the die-

appointment of a whole life's happiness. • .

" My dear brother,' she said, with more softness than she usually dis- played, '1 feelfor you. I have given you deep pain; but it was necessary. Better anything, in my opinion, than what I dtmd for you. I could not leave you unwamed ; but I have now acquitted myself of any obligation towards you. See, consider, and judge for yourself. Do nothing upon my judgment, for I can and du give no advice ; but weigh and examine; -and then act dispassionately .and calmly, and as a reasonable man should--act This I am sure you will dn.; and I ina sure also,t that by so -you do , not attain what you play consider happiness, yet you will save yourself bitter regrets and humh flu misery." • . " Mary,' aairL,St.,Lawrence, as he iestencled his hand to her, - I helielve you speak from a true regard for .me„ atoll thank you ; butt need tiree-and solitude for consideration. Depend upon it, I will control myself, and do nothing -hootf,. lat.us be waliciagisoessn'Soisaying, he rase, . and ;the bro- ther and sister took the path to the house in silence,".