MR. ROSCOE.

PART II.

"Happy day! that breaks our chain:
That manumits; that calls from exile home;
That leads to Nature's great metropolis,

And re-admits us, through the guardian hand
Of elder Brother, to our Father's throne."-Young.

To trace the operations of a supernatural power in the renovation of the human heart; and the gradual development of the principles which are implanted in it, when that great moral change takes place, is an For though interesting and a profitable employment. we cannot see when, nor how the transformation is effected; nor yet determine with metaphysical precision where the last effort of constitutional virtue terminates, and where the first exercise of christian principle commences, in the various actions of a believer's life, yet we may very easily recognize the predominating influence of that grace, which reigns through righteousness unto eternal life.

As he advances from the spring-time of his conversion, to the maturity of his growth, the foliage of his profession will acquire a more ripened tinge; his blossoms will become the fruits of holiness; and while unconscious of any progression in the improvement of his character, yet he will give unequivocal proofs of it. His passions may be less powerfully excited by the facts and doctrines of revelation, but his faith in their reality and importance will be stronger; he may not experience those sudden transitions of feeling which marked the earlier stages of his personal religion, but he will have a more permanent and a more settled peace of mind; and if he should not discover all that intensity of anxiety for his final happiness, which he evinced when he first saw the peril of his situation, it must be attributed, not to indifference, but to an abiding conviction that it is infallibly certain. In his intercourse with his fellow-christians he may manifest a smaller degree of zeal for the peculiarities of his opinion than he once displayed; and

may uniformly attempt to narrow, rather than widen the grounds of debate among them; yet he will stand fast in the liberty wherewith Christ has made him free ; and contend with earnestness, blended with moderation, for the faith which he deems no less essential to the present, than the final happiness of man. And if in the later periods of his life some imperfections are visible in his character, they will be found to be the imperfections of passion, rather than of principlethe blemishes of a character which has not yet attained the high degrees of excellence after which he is aspiring, rather than the blemishes of any evil habit which he deliberately tolerates; and though they may not appear so conspicuous to himself as to others, yet they will be sufficiently apparent to promote the growth of that humility which will keep him from thinking more highly of himself than he ought to think. He will imperceptibly become more lenient in his judgment of others, more severe in his judgment of himself-more disposed to deal tenderly with their infirmities, less disposed to palliate his own; and while in common with the whole community of the faithful, he admits the degeneracy of human nature, yet he will discover excellencies in others which he thinks he does not possess, and bitterly deplore the existence of evils in his heart, which he will imagine they never feel. But as the period draws near when he is to leave the scene of his conflicts and of his triumphs, of his sorrows and of his joys, and enter on the final possession of that state of purity and glory, to which all the evolutions of time and the attractions of eternity have tended to advance him; he more rapidly turns off in a moral meetness for the great change, as the husbandman often perceives the corn which has remained stationary, in appearance, for some days or weeks, suddenly change from the living green to the auburn hueindicating its ripeness for the sickle

Mr. Roscoe had just celebrated the seventieth anniversary of his birth, but he evinced no symptoms of old age, except the grey hairs that hung thick upon him, His understanding was as vigorous, his imagination as-sportive, and his usual flow of spirits as strong and

as rapid as at any former period of his life: and though his friends admitted the possibility of his decease, yet no one expected it. He still rose at his usual hour, and after giving the early part of the morning to study and devotion, generally spent the remaining part of the day either in attending to the duties of home, or visiting his friends. Mrs. Roscoe had long since become decidedly pious; and from the superior character of her mind was well qualified to render the unoccupied hours of her husband's life pleasant and agreeable, yet he felt the loss of his daughter's society more keenly than he expected. On her his affections had been early and strongly placed-she had been the instrumental means of conveying to his mind clear perceptions of the nature and design of the gospel of Christ; and with her he had been accustomed for many years to hold the most intimate christian fellowship. But now she had left him; and though she often rode over to see him and renew the interesting theme of former discussions, yet she came more in the character

"of a guest

Than like a child at home.”

Her absence, instead of impairing the strength of his attachment, tended to increase it; and for their mutual gratification it was determined, that they should regularly spend a day at each other's house every week. When taking leave of her the last time he ever saw her, he said, "My dear girl, I shall expect you early on Thursday morning, and I hope you will, with Mr. Lewellin tarry all night."

He rose the next morning in perfect health, took breakfast with Mrs. Roscoe, and conducted family prayer in his usual way; and as he expected Mr. Stevens to call on him before ten o'clock, he retired to his study rather earlier than he had been accustomed to do for some months. Mr. S. came, and as Mr. Roscoe did not make his appearance when Mrs. R. rang the bell, she requested one of the servants to call him. The servant knocked several times, but on receiving no answer she opened the door, and saw her master in the attitude of prayer. This circumstance

induced her to retire, but on closing the door she was so much struck with the singularity of the fall of his head, on the seat of his chair, that she advanced towards him a few paces, and immediately exclaimed, with great trepidation of voice, "My master is dead!” This exclamation, which was heard by Mr. Stevens, induced him to run up stairs, where he found the servant standing, petrified by terror, near her venerable master, who had, when engaged in the holy exercise of communion with his Maker, left the scene of his earthly cares and bliss, to take possession of bis heavenly inheritance. The consternation which this unexpected event occasioned no language can describe. It burst upon the family amidst the unruffled tranquillity of their domestic quietude, like a sudden thunder-storm, which coming in an unlooked-for momeat, overpowers the peaceful inhabitants of the valley, by the awfulness of its sounds, and the fury of its desolating torrents. Mrs. Roscoe hastened into the study, but not as in former times, to enjoy the society of her husband, but, to witness his premature decease. His hands were yet warm, and his countenance had undergone no change, but the vital finid had stopped in its course-the eyelids had fallen, there was no respiration, no motion-for he had ceased to be a citizen of earth. "My husband! my dear husband!" she repeated several times, till at length she sunk beneath the terror of the scene, and was carried into an adjoining room. Here she remained for the space of a quarter of an hour in a state of total insensibility; when she awoke, apparently unconscious of her loss, till she saw Mr. Stevens ap-. proaching her. "And is my husband dead, Sir?" "Be composed, my dear friend, it is the Lord's doing." "Yes, Sir, I know it; but the tempest of my passions must subside before I can be composed. Does Sophia know it? How did she receive the news, when you told her that her father was dead? Why is she not here? Has she perished in this storm of grief? O my husband! my husband! I suppose, Sir," addressing herself to Dr. Bailey, who had just examined the body, "he was gone beyond the reach of your skill. before you arrived ?"

"Yes, Madam, I think life departed in a moment, without giving any previous intimations."

Mr. Stevens hastened to convey the mournful tidings to Mr. and Mrs. Lewellin, while Mrs. Stevens devoted her attention to the bereaved widow. When he rode up the lawn in front of their house he saw them returning from a morning's walk, and after an exchange of a few common-place inquiries, he took Mr. Lewellin apart from his wife and communicated the intelligence. Mrs. Lewellin on looking through the parlour window saw that Mr. Stevens was the bearer of some news that deeply affected her husband; and feeling apprehensive that it bore some reference to her parents, immediately rushed out, and asked, if all was well. "Yes, my dear," said her husband, all is well that the Lord does.' "Yes, I know it; but' what has he done?" "Your

Let me know the "Your father is now

father!"- "My father! What! tell me?". "Your father," said Mr.. Stevens, was taken suddenly ill this morning, and when I left him was not able to speak to me.' "Is he living, Sir? O, tell me! Suspense tortures me! full extent of the calamity?" mingling his praises with the redeemed before the throne!" "What! and have I lost my father? Is he gone without giving me the paternal blessing? How did he die ?" "On his knees." fine attitude! Happy saint!" lation." "And how does my dear mother sustain the blow?" "She wishes to see you."

"On his knees? A

"His was a trans

They hastened to the house of mourning, but on entering the breakfast-parlour in which Mr. Roscoe had only a few hours before partaken of his last meal on earth, Mrs. Lewellin's feelings overcame her. On recovering from this hysteric fit she became more composed, and expressed a desire to see her afflicted mother, and being supported by Mr. Lewellin and Mrs. Stevens, she was led into the parlour, where the bereaved widow sat, silent and motionless, in all the solitude and agony of woe. She rose to meet her daughter, and in a moment they were closely locked in each other's embrace, but they were too highly surcharged with grief to utter any sounds but those of