posing that they can really belong to the kingdom of grace on earth; and yet such is the state of society in the Christian world, that we are many of us holding our heads high, as professors of religion, and living in the daily commission of practices utterly inconsistent with our profession. If a reader who is in the habit of putting alum into his bread, or tobacco into his beer, or of passing any of those cheats upon his customers, which, to use a vulgar expression, are called, all fair play, and common in a way of business,' should throw down this little volume with a look of disgust and with a feeling of anger, let him, (whether he take it up again or not) set to work to examine his conscience immediately, and if his conscience excuses him, let him just consider as I said above, that consciences and clocks are by their nature sometimes out of order; the one, that is, the clock, when it has not been regulated by the sun; the other, when it has not been kept true to the word and the Spirit of God, even of Christ, that true light which lighteth every man who desires to walk by His light.

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CHAPTER VII.

ORMESTON PRIORY.

PRIDE may easily be discovered under any of its common forms; but its subtle character can insinuate itself into the least suspected corners of the heart, and come forth under a thousand disguises. Who can say, I am not proud? He who can presume to say so, is probably "too proud to own his pride." There is a very common species of pride, which often passes undiscovered, and the persons who possess it, are not deemed proud.

I have heard poor persons say, that "real gentlefolks are not proud, only those, (to continue their own mode of expression,) who are half and half." Now I am quite inclined to agree that real gentlefolks in worldly rank are not so often proud, for they do not find it worth their while to be so. But observe the lady of high rank in her demeanour towards the untitled gentlewoman, who is decidedly a grade or two below herself; observe

the manner of that very gentlewoman in the company of an upper tradesman's wife; or the upper tradesman's wife with the mistress of a little chandler's shop; and you will easily see whether true and Christian humility is a grace in their hearts. It is very easy for a very high and a very fine lady to condescend to the wife of a tradesman, or for the untitled gentlewoman to speak with a kind and gentle familiarity to the labourer's wife. In such cases, there can be no mistake; no possible confounding of ranks. Nay, there is a graceful pride of seeming to be humble. But let me see the lady of rank and the untitled lady, unaffectedly kind to those in the very next step of worldly rank beneath them; let me see them without any thing like haughty restraint or reserve, or coldness, or oppressive and complimental civility; and I will tell you whether they are proud or not. Oh, real humility, lovely Christ-like lowliness of heart and mind, is alike in all situations, and towards all ranks and conditions of human society.

Ormeston Priory is scarcely half a mile from the town of Arlingford; indeed, the old park wall, overtopped by venerable groves, extends all along the skirts of one side of the town, just as Knowle Park does by that of Seven Oaks. Old Madame Ormeston, as the poorer people called her, died about three years and a half after Mr. Clare took possession of the living, and the ancient mansion was found to be in so dilapidated a state, that her

son, Colonel Ormeston, gave orders for it to be put in thorough repair. What is now meant by thorough repair, might often be called almost rebuilding. The Priory was, therefore, almost pulled to pieces, to be restored in a way that was really magnificent. When the repairs were finished, and the house furnished, Colonel Ormeston found that he had exceeded his means to so large an amount, that he could not afford to reside in it. At the end of two years, however, after the house was repaired, Lord Ormeston died; he was cousin three times removed from Colonel Ormeston; but though his title died with him, his fortune was left by his will to his nearest kinsman, and Colonel Ormeston came into possession of a hundred thousand pounds, and a large red house in Northamptonshire. He ordered the large red house to be let, and came at once to reside at his own beautiful mansion. The bells were ringing, and a flag waving on the church tower, and arches of evergreens were thrown across the streets, as the carriages conveying Lady Madalena Ormeston and the Colonel, her husband, and their children, and Lady Monfort, (Lady Madalena's mother,) and their lady's maids, passed through the town of Arlingford. No accident happened, except, as old Mrs. Clackshaw told every one for a week after, that Mr. Mallard had well nigh been driven over, having taken it into his head, and he himself could not tell why, to cross the street, just as the carriages came rattling past. The coming of the family to the Priory was looked

Lady

upon as an event of deep importance at Arlingford, and all the idlers came to church the first Sunday after their arrival, on purpose to stare at the family in the Ormeston pew. Mr. Clare sighed, as he saw faces before him, which had grown harder and harder in their expression, while he entreated them to come to church. They were now fixed with looks of eager interest on the fine countenance of Colonel Ormeston, and upon the elegantly simple dress of Lady Madalena and her daughter. Monfort also was pronounced to be a most noblelooking lady. Miss Clackshaw told her mother, that she managed to get a good stare at her, when she stopped after service, to speak to old Mr. Adams, who was then on a visit at his daughter's, Mrs. Frank Hilton. Mr. Adams, it seemed, (but she had heard that before,) had been steward of the Monfort property in the North; so had his father and grandfather before him. His eldest son was steward there at that very time to her Ladyship's son, the present Earl. Mr. Adams had only resigned his situation there the year before.

Mr. Clare's little carriage turned from the Priory, and proceeded slowly down the long dark avenue leading to the town. Lady Madalena Ormeston did not raise her languid gaze from the frame of delicate carpet-work, over which she was bending, and addressed her daughter in a voice of slight, but decided displeasure. --"I thought,