 the general alarm and confusion, the agonies of his mind were unobserved by all but Charlotte; who, though much affected herself by Julia's

situation, could not perceive Seymour's violent agitation without an emotion the most painful. A surgeon was sent for, who stopped the bleeding, and found that the wound was but a slight one. Charlotte intreated her cousin to remain all night at her house; but Julia assured her she was well enough to return home. Charlotte's carriage was immediately ordered, and, when it was ready, Frederick Seymour insisted upon attending Julia home: in vain she declared, that she was quite recovered, and that his going was intirely unnecessary. Seymour persisted in his design, which Charlotte felt herself obliged to second; though that look of distraction, and that voice of despair, to which the accident gave rise, were still present to her mind.
Julia, in the way home, remarked to Seymour, "that it was fortunate his servants saw the accident, and came so

immediately to her assistance." "The only person who saw the accident," replied Seymour, "was myself. I was looking after your chair, and when I saw it fall, flew to the spot, and called to the servants to follow." Julia, after this information, thought it prudent to say no more on the subject. Seymour was still in too great perturbation of mind to trust himself to speak; and they reached Mr. Clifford's house without uttering another word.


IN the midst of many worldly schemes, which it would have required a length of years to accomplish, Mrs. Melbourne was seized with a dangerous disorder. Mrs. Seymour paid her a visit of half an hour every day; but the remainder of the day was spent in solitude, which afforded no very comfortable reflections to her mind, the opportunities of doing good which she had neglected, being the subjects of her frequent meditation. How different is the opinion which we cherish of ourselves in the days of health, and when we feel the approaches of death! At the appearance of that king of terrors, the

delusive mist which self-love throws around our vices and our weaknesses, "melts into thin air," and the naked heart shrinks from its own observation.
Mrs. Melbourne now became sensible, that she had not deserved the blessings of friendship, and she found herself left to die without its consolations. Deserted by every body, formal messages to enquire how she did, were all the marks of sympathy she received; for she had no friend to
