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Clara Lushington's Account of herself; related during the course of a long illness, to a tender and pious Friend, who was her constant companion.

"I was born in the province of Delhi in the East Indies. My father was an officer, high in the Company's service; and my mother a native of Cashmire, born of mussulmaun parents, and never, as I have reason to fear, convinced of the errors of that faith.

"From such an ill assorted union, much domestic happiness was, of course, not to be expected, neither, as I well remember, did much result.

"I do not recollect the station, at which I was born, my parents having left it while I was too young to take much notice. When I first became conscious of my existence, I was living with them at Cawnpore, an European station in the East Indies, on the banks of the Ganges, about eight hundred miles above Calcutta.

"Cawnpore is the largest station, with the exception of Calcutta, on that side of India; consisting, first of a black or native town, a barrack for European infantry, a second for artillery, a third for European cavalry, and a fourth for native cavalry; the whole forming a line along the banks of the river for nearly seven miles, the country in the rear of and between these several stations for regiments being sprinkled with gentlemen's houses, standing, for the most part, in beautiful gardens abounding with all kind of fruit and forest trees.

"My father, who held a staff situation in this place, inhabited a house situated at the extreme end of the native cavalry cantonment. The site of his habitation was on a conca rock, on the bank of the river; and it consisted of two bungalows, united by a gallery which was formed of mud, and covered with thatch, of nearly a quarter of a mile in length, and built with a gradual ascent from the lower to the upper bungalow.

"Of the two bungalows, the less, which was the habitation of my mother, was so near the precipice which flanked the bed of the river, that one of the outer verandahs hung in mid air, suspended on the beams strongly attached to the rock, and at such a height as to be above

my friend, by representing an act of this kind as any thing more than a common duty. Would you praise a man for not robbing on the highway, when I tell you that a common highwayman is a superior character to one who takes advantage of circumstances to deprive a neighbour, a distant relation, or a brother of his just rights?"

I could with pleasure write many pages relative to the blessed state of mind of this truly noble and pious young man during the few last weeks of his life. His decay was so gradual, that even his nearest friends were not fully aware how soon they would be required to give him up. His last evening was spent in his favourite apartment, the library of the parsonage; where, as he lay on the sofa, with his beloved tutor and Robert seated by his side, the brilliancy of his eyes, and the hectic glow of his cheeks, added to the natural beauty of his features, rendered his aspect so far from deathlike, that, although his pulse throbbed violently, and his breath was alarmingly oppressed, the idea of his very speedy dissolution did not by any means occur to his anxious friends. The window of the room was open, it being summer, and some of the little children from his school at Farewell had come to bring him an offering of fruit.

When their little presents were brought, he took a single strawberry from the basket; and, having eaten it, he begged that the children might be ranged around, without the window, to sing a favourite hymn which he had taught them. His request was complied with; and while they sang, he seemed pleased, and even affected. "Ah, dear children, I shall never hear your voices again," he said: "I shall never more visit your little village: but I thank God for the happy hours I have spent among you." He then added these words:

"These are the joys he makes us know

In fields and villages below;
Gives us a relish of his love,

But keeps his noblest feast above."

On that very night, at twelve o'clock, this blessed young man finished his short but glorious course, in the arms of Robert Lambert, while his tutor, with several old servants, were kneeling round his bed,"

Frederick Falconer's death took place exactly one year and six days after that of his uncle; and when, had he accepted the bequest of Sir Anthony, he might have been in possession of the estate precisely one year, wanting five days.

Frederick Falconer had been laid out in the handsomest room of the parsonage about eight hours, and his fine features were settled in death, although the hectic glow had scarcely yet forsaken his lips and cheeks, while the most beautiful flowers from the green-house and hot-house, belonging to the Hall and his own garden, were profusely scattered over the sheet with which he was covered, when suddenly a carriage appeared at the gate, from which rushed the unhappy Augusta, in a state little short of frenzy.

Robert Lambert met her as she entered the hall. Her step was hurried; her hair disordered; and her cheeks were in a glow. "Where is my Frederick," she said, addressing Robert, but not seeming to know the person thus addressed.

Robert was silent, and seemed violently agitated at the sight of this young lady.

"Where is Mr. Falconer?" said Augusta, turning from Sir Robert to a servant who entered the hall.

The servant's eye directed her to the stairs. She approached them, and ascending rapidly, met Mr. Day at the door of the room, where rested all that was mortal of the late elegant and amiable youth.

"Lady Augusta Clifton!" said Mr. Day, with astonishment.

"Where is Mr. Falconer ?" repeated Augusta; and pushing by Mr. Day, she entered the room, and hastened with a quick step towards the bed, but stopping short at the sight of the corpse, she clapsed her hands, turned pale as death, and remained a moment motionless. Then looking, as if appealing for pity, at Mr. Day and Robert, who had followed her into the room, she approached the corpse, and stooping over it, addressed it in the following words:

"Yes, my Frederick, I have resolved, I have determined upon doing all that you required. I will abandon all for you; all the pleasures, all the honours, all the

distinctions, of this world,-I give them all up for you." So saying, she pressed her lips on the cold forehead of the corpse, and sunk insensible upon the bed.

In this state she was removed, and every means were used to restore her senses. She at length recovered, and, with a calm dignity, which was even more dreadful than her late frenzy, she bade adieu to Mr. Day and Sir Robert, got into her carriage with her maid, and was driven back to Clifton Castle.

From that day lady Augusta was never more seen to smile; and a very few years terminated that life which had been begun amidst prospects the most fair, but the happiness of which had been entirely marred by the eager desire of possessing the distinctions, honours, and riches of this world. The funeral of Frederick was marked by expressions of the deepest sorrow. It was attended by lord V, Sir Robert Lambert, and Mr. Day, and by multitudes of young and old persons of every rank in the neighbourhood. The children of the school at Farewell sung Frederick's favourite hymn over his grave; and there was not an individual present who did not weep abundantly, nor one who would not gladly have changed place with him, who in his life had been so eminently enabled to show forth the effect of grace, and whose death had been as tranquil as that was honourable.

Lord and lady V, when it was too late, deplored their former ambitious aims respecting their daughter: and I rejoice in being able to add, that, having been favoured with clearer views of religion through the instrumentality of Mr. Day, and in consequence of the evermemorable example of Frederick Falconer, by the time that their son arrived at that age when he might be expected to choose a wife, they desired chiefly to find a virtuous woman-virtuous in the true Christian acceptation of the term; being now fully persuaded, that good principles in a son or daughter are more to be esteemed than gold and silver, and all that the world deems desirable.

After the death of his much-lamented Frederick, Mr. Day attached himself to Robert Lambert; and the last ten years of this good man's life were spent in the edu

cation of the sons of Sir Robert, the eldest of whom was called Frederick, and the second, Falconer.

Sir Robert was a sincere and constant mourner for his beloved Frederick, and a successful imitator of his glorious example; being counted, after he came to his estate, one of the most upright, honourable, and generous men of whom his country could boast, and I need not add, a man of solid and consistent piety.

Sir Robert Lambert did not marry again till some time after the death of Augusta, and, it was reported, that he offered himself to her more than once during this interval. But this unhappy young lady continued to the last faithful to the memory of her Frederick; and, as she died in confident reliance on the merits of her Saviour for the pardon of her numerous misdeeds, we may trust that she is now rejoicing in the presence of that Saviour, in the land where all tears shall be wiped from our eyes.

Many years are passed away since Frederick Falconer was delivered from this present evil world: but a noble full-length portrait of him is still to be seen in a gallery at Lambert Hall, where he is represented in the full bloom of health and beauty, but clothed in light and resplendent garments, and elevating his eyes and hands towards heaven, with a brilliant crown hanging over his head, while beneath his feet are placed bags of gold and other emblems of earthly magnificence. And the children's children of Robert Lambert still show this portrait with evident satisfaction, and are delighted to relate the history which occasioned its existence.

The lady of the manor here concluded her narrative; at the same time expressing her hope, that she had succeeded, in some small degree, in pointing out and explaining the rule of rectitude which every Christian ought to observe with regard to the possessions of his neighbours, and in warning her young people against that more polite kind of stealing of which proud and ambitious persons are continually guilty. "Ambition," she added, "is a prolific source of dishonesty; but it is, nevertheless, natural to man's heart, and can never be eradicated from thence until the Spirit of God has exerVOL. IV. X

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