was something too in doctor Bristol's manner that recommended every sentiment he uttered; it was so calm, so dispassionate, there was so much of the serenity of truth in it. There were no extravagant statements; he did not insist that another should believe, because he felt the truth of such and such propositions; he did not enter into a formal argument, but intimated the grounds on which his own opinions had been formed, and permitted Mr. Redwood to draw his own conclusions, hoping they would be such, as seemed to him natural and inevitable. Mr. Redwood made minute inquiries in relation to the Lenox family. He expressed his surprise and regret, that they had not thought proper to interfere and detain by force, if necessary, the foolish little girl, who he predicted would soon be sick of her folly. He was pleased to hear that the doctor, as well as himself, regarded Deborah as an amusing original; and he again intimated some curiosity in relation to Miss Bruce, which the doctor either could not, or did not choose to gratify. He did not allow the doctor to leave him till he had requested him to make his visits as long and as frequent as possible, nor till he had expressed, in the most flattering terms, his entire confidence in the doctor's professional ability. Miss Redwood entered her father's room as doctor Bristol left it, to make her dutiful inquiries, which were perhaps nearly as much a matter of form as the professional visit of the physician. VOL. I. 10 After she had gone through the customary routine of, "how he had slept? how he felt himself," &c. she said, "if you have no objections, papa, I will take a drive this afternoon to the village while this funeral is going on here. Ralph tells me, the injury done to the carriage yesterday was very slight, and that he can have it in order by one o'clock, the hour appointed for the funeral." "If that is the case, my dear," replied Mr. Redwood, "you will gratify me if you will forego your ride, and offer the carriage for the use of the poor old woman and her young friend: they have not probably as convenient a mode of riding, and I am told it is customary in New-England for the female relatives to follow the body to the grave." "How barbarous !" exclaimed Miss Redwood; "but thank fortune there is no occasion, for Lilly tells me, the old woman is too sick to go out, and is just to sit up and hear the sermon and all that; and so, papa, if you have no objections I will take the carriage, and get out of the way: funerals and all that sort of thing, are so dull and disagreeable; I don't see the use of them." The poet's doctrine, that "sweet are the uses of adversity," was nearly as foreign from the father's as the daughter's experience: but he perceived that the good-will of the Lenox family would be of very material use to them; and thinking that it might be conciliated by the deference to their feelings which would be evinced by Miss Red wood's presence at the funeral solemnity, he requested her to gratify him by deferring her own inclinations. The request had too much authority in it to be denied; and though Miss Redwood thought it great folly to take the trouble to win favour which might be purchased, she did not in the end regret that she had complied with her father's request, so much was she amused with the number and aspect of the crowd which the occasion assembled. The observances of a funeral in a country-town in New-England are quite primitive; but their simplicity is more touching than the most pompous ceremonial, for it speaks the language of nature to natural and universal feeling; and even to those who are not of that soft mould that is easily impressed by human sympathies, and who have only witnessed this last scene in the drama of life in a city, the spectacle of a country funeral must always be curious. In town, a funeral procession scarcely attracts the eye of the boy, who is carelessly trundling his whoop, or flying his kite, and the busy and the gay bustle past, as if they cared for none of these things, and had neither part nor lot in them. But in the country, where life is not so plentiful; where each knows his neighbour, the events of his life, and the hope he may have had in death; the full import and terrible significance of this event is felt. Some will attend a funeral, because they remember a kind word or deed of the departed, or, it may be, a kind look that inspired a : personal interest; some, from respect to the living; some because it is good to go to the house of mourning the old would not shrink from the admonition they hear there, and the old take the young because they ought not to shrink from it: some like to watch the tears of the mourners, and some to note there are no tears. The motives that draw any crowd together are almost as various as the persons that compose it. On this occasion, there was an universal sentiment of compassion for the solitary aged mourner, and of respect for the memory of the departed. Miss Redwood took her station at one extremity of the apartment in which the assembly met. She was arrayed with studied elegance; Lilly stood on one side of her chair, and a footman in livery on the other the body of the deceased was on the opposite side of the room: next to it sate Mrs. Allen, and beside her, and supporting her, Ellen, who, in a simple white dress, her face beaming with tender sympathy, looked like the embodied spirit of religion. Perhaps beauty is never more touching than when exclusively occupied with the sufferings of others, it is lit up with that divine expression of tender compassion, which, to a religious imagination, is the peculiar attribute of an angel's face. Next Ellen sate Mr. and Mrs. Lenox and their numerous family, all clad in mourning; their sad looks suiting well with their badges of grief. The two youngest children were placed on a bench at their parent's feet, and whenever they could with : draw their eyes from the various objects that attracted them, they would peep into their parent's faces, and catching the expressive language of sorrow, fall to crying, till some new object diverted their attention. Miss Deborah, having no part of her own to perform, acted as mistress of ceremonies. She spoke, perhaps, oftener and louder than was necessary, but on the whole, she conducted her affairs with less official bustle than is common on such occasions. After having made a clear space for the clergyman in the centre of the room, and assigned to others their places, allotting the arrangement of the procession to a gigantic militia Major, who usually filled that office, she seated herself at the foot of the coffin, permitted a large gray cat that came purring through the crowd to take its usual station in her lap, composed her muscles to a rigid attention, and motioned to the clergyman to begin his duty. He made an affecting exhortation, founded on the 15th chapter of the Epistle to the Corinthians. A funeral hymn was sung, and he then proceeded to close the services with a prayer, not however until Deborah had whispered to him, "the old lady is just spent, be short, sir: pray but a breath or two." The aged mourner had listened without once raising her eyes, without a sigh or a movement.. It seemed as if time or grief had dried the fountain of her tears, for not one was seen on her furrowed cheek. The services over, the Major ordered the crowd to fall back to the right and left, while the |