where others, far better informed, were made light of, or altogether passed over; was popular, and deservedly so, for his bountiful liberality to those who dwelt on his estate, and were dependent on him for their subsistence. In short, he was emphatically in heart and life a thorough and consistent man of the world. He subscribed to its precepts, and followed its practices without gainsaying; and, while moral and upright in his conduct, bearing an unblemished name, a kind heart, a generous hand, he was a perfect stranger to vital godliness, knowing nothing of the transforming power of religion in the soul; feeling no need of greater strength than his own to enable him to walk aright: and classing all those who took the Bible as their rule, and walked according to its teachings, as enthusiasts or narrow-minded people, deserving only of his contemptuous pity.

His house was constantly thronged with visitors, whose lives were one continued course of excitement and gaiety; for his large means gave him the power of supplying them with every kind of amusement, and his brilliant entertainments were pronounced unrivalled even by some of the most distinguished in the fashionable world.

Mrs. Seymour, who warmly seconded her husband in these things, had been in her youth remarkably handsome, and her countenance still bore the remains of considerable beauty. Her manner was graceful and exceedingly winning, and she was naturally gentle and amiable; but contact with the world had done much towards checking the spontaneous kindliness of her disposition, and she was in great danger of suffering herself to be closely enveloped in the icy robes of pride and selfishness.

On any important matter she was in the habit-quite unconsciously of leaning upon others, instead of exerting herself, or making use of her own judgment. She rarely, if ever, differed from Mr. Seymour in opinion, admiring his determination of character, as it had never yet proved inconvenient to her by crossing her in any of her own particular desires or amusements.

Herbert, their only child, was from his earliest years brought up in the lap of luxury and indulgence. Not a wish of his young heart was ungratified; not a request he chose to make unheeded. He was a quick and peculiarly intelligent child, frank, open, and fearless; entered with boyish glee into every scene of festivity suited to his age, and at the conclusion of his studies was prepared to enjoy himself more uninterruptedly than he had yet been able. Already in anticipation did he mingle in the joyous scenes which awaited him— scenes which to him revealed nothing but brightness and sunshine; for hitherto no shadow had crossed his path, no sorrow had entered his heart, and he looked forward to the great uncertain future with no dread, but smilingly, hopefully. He was the life of Mertonsville, with his exuberant, mirth-loving spirit-his father's pride, his mother's joy! Just at this juncture he received an urgent invitation from a party of his young friends who wished him to join them in a delightful tour they proposed to make, first through England and Wales, and afterwards on the Continent; and, as Mr. and Mrs. Seymour heartily approved of their project, preparations were immediately commenced, and ere many weeks passed away they had set out on their travels, fully determined to make the most of the year which had been allotted to them, and see as much as possible before returning to their homes.

CHAPTER II.

DARKNESS AND LIGHT.

'Light hath arisen,-we walk in its brightness;
Joy hath descended, its fulness has come;
Peace hath been spoken,-we hear it, we take it ;
Angels are singing, and shall we be dumb?
Calm 'mid the tempest around us that rages;
'Mid the lone weariness, ever at rest;
Silent amid the rude uproar of voices;
Sometimes disquieted,―never opprest.

Happy in Him who hath loved us and bought us,
Rich in the life which He gives to His own,
Filled with the peace passing all understanding,
Never less lonely than just when alone."

Hymns of Faith and Hope. LATE one Saturday, not long after setting out on their journey, the gay party arrived at the quiet little village of P, being driven thither by the desire of visiting a noted waterfall a few miles distant. They had previously arranged to devote the Sabbath to this object, but to their great disappointment were unable to do so, owing to a heavy and prolonged storm of wind and rain which kept them confined to their hotel.

Dark and louring clouds hung like a thick drapery above, and the deep-toned roll of thunder and oft-repeated flash of lightning mingled with the torrents of rain which poured incessantly.

The first part of the morning passed gloomily enough, for nearly all the young men were chafed and irritated at the delay, and in no way disposed to make the best of the position in which they were unavoidably placed.

Their luggage had been left at a neighbouring town, whither they expected to return the next day; so that they were unprovided with books or any other means of beguiling the hours of the Sabbath.

At last they summoned their landlord, and entreated him to furnish them with some amusement; but, shaking his head, he said he feared there was nothing that would interest them, "unless," as he was about to withdraw, "cards would be acceptable."

"The very thing!" eagerly cried the young men; "bring them at once."

The man returned in a few moments, and laid the cards on the table. They were instantly taken possession of, and soon the friends, absorbed in the exciting game, seemed oblivious to all around them, and no longer spent their time in passing animadversions on the weather. And, alas! they were also unmindful of the command which should have been ringing in their ears-"Remember the Sabbath-day to keep it holy."

Towards evening the atmosphere gradually cleared, and the rain ceased to pour with the same violence as in the former part of the day.

Tired of remaining indoors so long, they were all thinking of venturing out, when they received another visit from their landlord, who said, with a very perceptible degree of hesitation, “Excuse me for mentioning it, but there is a stranger going to preach in the church at seven-a Mr. Harland, who is travelling for the benefit of his health, and is, I have heard, a very superior preacher." Receiving no answer to this information, he added abruptly, "Perhaps you might wish to go and hear him."

"Ah!" exclaimed Reginald Grafton, one of the most boisterous among them, " cards in the morning and church in the evening; this is your creed, is it, my good friend?" And his loud mocking laugh sadly disconcerted the timid but well-meaning landlord, who had been reproaching himself for having encouraged those under his roof to break the Sabbath.

"Well, Grafton," said another, with a yawn, "after all, his proposition is a very sensible one. This confounded weather will prevent our seeing anything of the country until to-morrow; therefore I, for one, vote that we take his advice."

There was a little demur at first, as this unexpected suggestion was made, but on the whole it was received with satisfaction; and at the appointed time the pleasure-seeking group were quietly seated in the house of God.

The prayers were conducted by the clergyman belonging to the parish, and at their conclusion Mr. Harland took his place in the pulpit. He was about thirty years of age, pale and feeble looking, but with a countenance of singular sweetness-indicating firmness and resolution, united with gentleness of disposition and energy of purpose.

A swift, keen glance he threw around him; then in full, rich tones announced his text, and proceeded with his sermon.

The subject was "Joy unspeakable, and full of glory;" and as calmly, but with deep earnestness, he spoke of the joy which it is each believer's privilege to possess even on earth,—contrasting it with the false and fleeting pleasures of the world; the one so real and unfading, the other a mere shadow, which only remains for an instant, and then passes away for ever,—he succeeded in concentrating the devout attention of his hearers. The impressive fervour of his manner, coupled with the eloquence of his language, sent a strange thrill of emotion through Herbert Seymour's frame, and caused him to listen to each word with intense interest.

To him all was new. Of religion he had learned but little, and that little had been presented to his mind in so gloomy and unattractive a garb, that he considered everything relating to it in the light of an irksome duty, to be postponed as long as possible. Now, for the first time, he was told that it was not so much a duty to be performed, as a most delightful privilege to be enjoyed; and when Mr. Harland went on to describe the effect of this joy, and by his striking imagery and lovely examples explained what it had often done for its possessors amidst the deepest sorrows, the loneliest hours,-in times of poverty and suffering, and in the immediate presence of death itself,he became sensible that to this he was an utter stranger. To doubt the speaker's sincerity was impossible; one glance satisfied Herbert that he was only delineating that which he had himself experienced. The bright gleam of sunshine which ever and anon flushed from his

eyes, and the sweet smile which lighted up his pale cheek with almost a heavenly radiance, proclaimed the deep abiding peace which reigned within.

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Before concluding his sermon, Mr. Harland urgently implored all those who as yet had lived only for themselves or the world, to flee to the Cross of Christ, and live from henceforth, not unto themselves, but unto Him who died for them, and rose again. "So," said he, you shall discover from your own happy experience, what it is to have the peace of God dwelling in your hearts,-what it is to 'rejoice evermore,' even while suffering pain or loss, and passing, it may be, through much tribulation in this the house of your pilgrimage; and after the present life is over, you shall enter into the joy of your Lord."

When Herbert Seymour left the church, it was with a heavy burden resting on his heart, and the consciousness of a true want, of which he had hitherto been ignorant. All his young friends had, contrary to their expectations, been more or less interested in the sermon, but any impression which may have been made on them was speedily effaced. Not so, however, as regards Herbert. In the busy excitement of travelling, weeks and months rolled away; but the words he had listened to on that memorable Sabbath evening were constantly recurring to his mind.

While journeying through the sunny plains of Italy, and gazing on the snow-capped mountains and flowing streams of beautiful Switzerland, he still felt an aching void within-a strange yearning which nothing earthly could satisfy.

Sometimes he would fling himself down upon some grassy bank near a roaring waterfall, and, as he contemplated the solemn grandeur of the prospect which presented itself to his view, his thoughts would rise to the almighty Maker of heaven and earth, while many and sore a longing came over him to be able to say with truth and certainty, "This great God is my God.”

His companions embraced every opportunity of rallying him upon the loss of spirits, and would fain have persuaded him to drown the voice of conscience by plunging into scenes of revelry and dissipation with which they were themselves already too familiar.

But the good seed was not to be thus destroyed. Sharp and severe were the struggles he experienced, before he could grasp the promise, "Him that cometh unto me I will in nowise cast out," or comprehend the true ground of the believer's hope; but this once understood, he embraced the pardon freely offered, carried his doubts and fears, his sins and infirmities, and laid them all on the great sin-bearer, the Lamb of God.

Then every sorrow fled! The heavy burden was removed from his heart, the glorious sunshine of God's presence illuminated his soul, and he went on his way rejoicing!

At times he wished that he could have an interview with Mr. Harland, the unconscious instrument of his conversion, but it seemed improbable that he would again have an opportunity of seeing him.

It was now the beginning of August, and the gay party began to talk of moving homewards. Before doing so they agreed to revisit one of the lovely lakes embosomed amongst the snowy mountains, and ramble along its margin. As they reached a point which they had not before seen, the view which burst upon them was truly enchant

ing; and, regardless of the presence of his friends, Herbert Seymour sat down and silently surveyed the lovely scenery at his leisure.

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'Seymour is going to be dull," said Reginald Grafton, in an audible whisper. "I propose that we leave him to enjoy the prospect in his own way while we explore something else."

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"Yes," exclaimed Herbert, rousing himself; "do not wait for me. I will join you presently."

Soon their voices died away in the distance, and the young man was left to luxuriate in the noble scene which lay before him. The lofty grandeur of the rugged mountains was to him most imposing, with their hoary_heads now and again glistening in the sunlight which also danced athwart the trees and sparkled upon the placid lake, on whose calm bosom was reflected the lovely azure of the summer's sky. No sound broke the stillness which prevailed, only the insect's hum and the gentle twittering of birds, with the soft sigh of the zephyr, as it played among the leafy branches which, bending downward, kissed the water's edge.

Herbert fell into a pleasant reverie, but started on hearing a voice behind him saying, "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away."

Then followed a moment's pause, after which the speaker, as if in continuation of the sublime subject, broke forth with, "There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God."

Surely," thought Herbert, "I have heard that voice before; but where ?"

There was no time to consider, for the next instant some branches were pushed aside, which had screened him from view, and the new comer stood before him.

It was Mr. Harland!