EARLY IN THE MORNING.

CONWAY'S APARTMENT.

CONWAY seated before a table at an open window, from whence is seen a beautiful view of the country. The sun not long risen. A packet of papers are before him. He sits in deep thought for some time, then opens the packet. The first paper is marked in HowARD'S hand

"Some Fragments found by me in my Son Arthur's writing-desk after his death."

1. WRITTEN BEFORE HIS CONVERSION.

September 28. 18—

• A beautiful evening. The sky perfectly clear, excepting towards the horizon bounding the sea, where there is a slight

haze. From this haze, the moon has just risen in soft and yellow light. Its beams are reflected on the water, and while in other parts the sea is dark, this stream of soft light slants from where the moon has risen to the shore, and in its brightness is seen the motion of the restless waves. Why is such a scene as this so powerfully soothing, so delightfully calming, that while we gaze at it our thoughts go in search of something pleasurable to rest upon? And why must this something still present itself in the character of a living, feeling being? Why cannot. the soul be satisfied with thoughts excited by that magnificent expanse, where so many worlds roll in boundless space,— by that pure and softening light, and that living restless ocean, and the unceasing voice of its wide waters? Still, still the heart, or at least my heart, is unsatisfied. All these glories only seem to make it ache for something more, liker itself,-nearer,-what would unite it in

telligibly with the mysterious attractiveness which surrounds me.'

II.

What power is this within me, which judges of my reason? Can a faculty judge itself? There is a something within me, which discovers the limits of my reason and its weakness,-what power is this? Are the united faculties of the soul, the soul itself? Or, as the senses and powers of the body minister to the faculties of the soul, do they, on their part, minister to a something still higher than they? And is this something my spirit,-myself? And what or who is it? and to what or whom does it minister? Is it that emanation from God himself, which is said to have been breathed into man? And as the faculties of my soul receive their impulse from, and fulfil their end by ministering to it, does it, or ought it, to receive its impulse from, and

fulfil the purpose of its existence by ministering to God? And would that ministration constitute its felicity, and in its felicity that of all its powers? And is this restlessness which I feel,—this constant stretching of thought into futurity, -this aching consciousness of disappointment from whatever is present, occasioned by the pressure on my spirit of that barrier,-that dark veil, which intervenes between it and its God, its source, its felicity, its end? And why, and whence that barrier? And who will, or can, answer these questions ?-Will death ?'

III.

How blindly have I deceived myself! I supposed all my soul had been reasoned into calmness, and prepared to meet with complacency whatever should occur, satisfied, that however unfortunate my situation was, there still remained to

me those objects of mental pursuit, for which many of the most distinguished amongst men had forsaken all others. Witnessing one scene of happiness, which I never can enjoy, has taught me the vanity of all my reasonings. One painful touch upon the heart, has proved to me that all my powers of mind are only slaves to it. While it sleeps, they may act or seem to reign; but, if it is awakened, they must all bear the impress of what it feels, be it joy or sorrow.

And

can the heart never be reasoned into calmness? Too surely no; its existence is emotion; and while we boast of liberty of will, we are poor creatures of necessity, who cannot shield this source of feeling and of motive, but must leave all its sensations bare and naked to whatever Heaven sends. Could I withdraw to where I should never witness what recalled my own sad circumstances so painfully, should I escape sorrow? No,loneliness has its own sorrows? this also