I want a godly fear,.

A quick-discerning eye,

That looks to thee when sin is near, And sees the tempter fly;

A spirit still prepared,

And armed with jealous care, Forever standing on its guard And watching unto prayer.

I want a heart to pray,

To pray and never cease, Never to murmur at thy stay, Or wish my sufferings less.

This blessing above all,

Always to pray, I want;

Out of the deep on thee to call,

And never, never faint.

I want a true regard,

A single steady aim

(Unmoved by threatening or reward)

To thee and thy great name;

A jealous, just concern

For thine immortal praise;

A pure desire that all may learn
And glorify thy grace.

I want with all my heart

Thy pleasure to fulfill,

To know myself, and what thou art,

And what thy perfect will.

I want, I know not what;

I want my wants to see;
I want alas, what want I not,
When thou art not in me!

LIGHT OF LIFE.

Light of life, seraphic fire,

Love divine, thyself impart;

Every fainting soul inspire,

Shine in every drooping heart;

Every mournful sinner cheer,

Scatter all our guilty gloom;
Son of God, appear, appear!

To thy human temples come!

Come in this accepted hour;
Bring thy heavenly kingdom in;
Fill us with thy glorious power,
Rooting out the seeds of sin:
Nothing more can we require,
We will covet nothing less;
Be thou all our heart's desire,
All our joy, and all our peace!

A SISTERLY VISIT.

BY SAMUEL RICHARDSON.

(From "Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded.")

[SAMUEL RICHARDSON, English novelist, was born in Derbyshire in 1689, and began his career as a printer's apprentice. He afterwards established a business of his own in London, became printer of the "Journals" of the House of Commons, and late in life was master of the Stationers' Company. Asked by two publishers to write a book of familiar letters "on the useful concerns in common life," he wrote "Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded" (1741), which ran through five editions in a year, and was recommended even from the pulpit. He then wrote "Clarissa Harlowe " (1751), generally regarded as his masterpiece, and "Sir Charles Grandison" (1754). The former work Johnson declared to be the first book in the world for its knowledge of the human heart. Richardson was a pious, benevolent man, and lived surrounded by a circle of affectionate and flattering friends, mostly women. He died in London, July 4, 1761.]

MONDAY MORNING, SEVEN O'CLOCK.

I HAVE just received a letter from my best friend [her husband]. This is a copy of it; directed to me by maiden name, because of the servant who brought it:

Monday Morning, Three O'clock.

MY DEAREST LOVE, - As I desired you not to expect me, if I re turned not by eleven last night, I hope my absence did not discompose you.

I sat up with my poor friend Carlton all night. He entreats me not to leave him. His hours seem to be numbered. A very few, it is believed, will shut up the solemn scene. He is, however, sensible. I have made his heart, and the hearts of his wife and children, easy in the assurances of my kindness to them. I left the poor man, for a few moments, praying for a release, and blessing me.

I could have wished, so much has this melancholy scene affected me, that we had not engaged ourselves to Sir Simon and the good neighborhood, for this night; but since the engagement must take place, let me beg of you, my dear, to take the chariot, and go to Sir Simon's; the sooner in the day, the more obliging it will be to all your admiring friends. I hope to join you there by your tea time in the afternoon. It will be six miles difference to me, and I know the good company will excuse dress on the occasion.

I count every hour of this little absence for a day, for I am, with the utmost sincerity, my dearest love, Forever yours,

W. B.

If you could dine with Sir Simon and the ladies, it would be a freedom they would be delighted with, and the more, as they expect not such a favor.

God preserve the health of my dearest Mr. B. I hope it will not suffer by his fatigues; and God bless him for his goodness to his sick friend and the distressed family. The least intimation of his pleasure shall be a command to me. I have ordered the chariot to be got ready. I will go and dine with Lady Darnford. I am already dressed.

Mrs. Jewkes is sent for down. The trampling of horses in the courtyard. Visitors are come. A chariot and six. Coronets on the chariot. Who can they be? They have alighted, and come into the house.

Dreadful Dreadful! What shall I do? Lady Davers! [her husband's sister]. Lady Davers, her own self! And my kind protector a great, great many miles off!

Mrs. Jewkes, out of breath, tells me this, and says she is inquiring for my master and me. How I tremble! I can hardly hold my pen. "She is not marry'd, I hope!" said

my lady. "No," replied Mrs. Jewkes. said my lady. Mrs. Jewkes apologized

"I am glad of that!" to me, as it was to be

a secret at present, for denying that I was married.

I can write no more at present. in terrors! I will try to get away.

Lord bless me! I am all

Let me tell you all, my dear mother, just as it passed. I have been dreadfully But you shall hear all as it passed. “I "I will run away, Mrs. Jewkes," said I. "Let the chariot go to the further end of the elm walk, and I will fly to it unperceiv'd.” — “But she is inquiring for you, madam. I said you were within, but going out. She would see you presently, she said, as soon as she could have patience." "What did she call me, Mrs. Jewkes?"-" The creature, madam:-'I will see the creature,' said she, 'as soon as I can have patience.' Ay, but," replied I, "the creature won't see her, if she can help it. Pray, Mrs. Jewkes, favor my escape for this once; for I am sadly frighted."

66

999

"I'll bid the chariot go down as you order," said she, "and wait till you come; and I'll step down and shut the hall door, that you may pass unobserv'd; for she sits cooling herself in the parlor over against the staircase." "That's a good Mrs. Jewkes!" said I; "but who has she with her?" "Her woman," answer'd she, "and her nephew ; but he came on horseback, and is gone into the stables, and they have three footmen.' "And I wish," said I, "they were all three hundred miles off! What shall I do!"

come up.

Mrs. Jewkes told me I must go down, or my lady would "What does she call me now 99 ? "Wench, madam : 'Bid the wench come down to me.' Her nephew and her woman are with her."

"I can't go!" said I, "and that's enough! You might contrive it, that I might get out, if you would." — "Indeed, madam, I cannot, for I would have shut the door, and she bid me let it stand open; and there she sits over against the staircase."—"Then," said I, fanning myself, "I'll get out of the window, I think; I am sadly frighted!"-"I wonder you so much disturb yourself, madam," said Mrs. Jewkes. "You're on the right side of the hedge, I'm sure; and were it my case, I would not be so discompos'd for anybody."-"Ay," said I, "but who can help constitution? I dare say you would no more be so discompos'd than I can help it."-"Indeed, madam, if I were you, I would put on an air as mistress of the house, as you are, and go and salute her ladyship, and bid her welcome." "Fine talking!" replied I; "and be cuffed for my civility! How unlucky this is, that your good master is abroad!"

"She expects to see you, madam. What answer shall I give her?". "Tell her I am sick in bed, tell her I am dying,

VOL. XVII. 7

and must not be disturb'd; tell her I am gone out; tell her anything!"

At that moment up came her woman. "How do you do, Mrs. Pamela?" said she, and stared; I suppose to see me dressed. "My lady desires to speak with you."-"Now," thought I, "I must go. She won't beat me, I hope. Oh, that my dear protector were at home!"

I followed her woman down; my gloves on, and my fan in my hand, that I might be ready to step into the chariot when I could get away. I had hoped that the occasion for all my tremblings had been over; but I trembled sadly; yet resolv'd to put on as easy an air as possible; and entering the parlor, and making a very low court'sy-"Your servant, my good lady," said I. "And your servant, again," said she, "my lady; for I think you are dress'd out like one."

"A charming girl, tho'!" said her rakish nephew, and swore a great oath. "Dear madam, forgive me, but I must kiss her." And came up to me.

"Forbear, uncivil gentleman," said I; "I won't be us'd with freedom."

"Jackey," said my lady, "sit down, and don't touch the creature she's proud enough already. There's a great difference in her air, as well as in her dress, I assure you, since I saw her last."

"Well, child," said she, sneeringly, "how dost find thyself? Thou'rt mightily come on of late! I hear strange reports about thee! Thou'rt got into fool's paradise, I doubt; but wilt find thyself terribly mistaken, in a little while, if thou thinkest my brother will disgrace his family for the sake of thy baby face!"

"I see," said I, sadly vex'd (her woman and nephew smiling by), "your ladyship has no particular commands for me, and I beg leave to withdraw."

"Worden," said she to her woman, "shut the door; my young lady and I must not part so soon. Where's your wellmanner'd deceiver gone, child?” said she.

"When your ladyship is pleased to speak intelligibly," replied I, "I shall know how to answer."

66

Well, but my dear child," said she, in drollery, "don't be too pert, neither. Thou wilt not find thy master's sister half so ready as thy mannerly master is to bear with thy freedoms. A little more of that modesty and humility, therefore,