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envy and malignity. Before you flatter yourself that you are a generous, benevolent person, take care to examine whether you are really glad of every advantage and excellence, which your friends and companions possess, though they are such as you are yourself deficient in. If your sister or friend makes a greater proficiency than yourself in any accomplishment, which you are in pursuit of, do you ever wish to stop her progress, instead of trying to hasten your own?

The boundaries between virtuous emulation and vicious envy are very nice, and may be easily mistaken. The first will awaken your attention to your own defects, and excite your endeavours to improve; the last will make you repine at the improvements of others, and wish to rob them of the praise they have deserved. Do you sincerely rejoice when your sister is enjoying pleasure or commendation, though you are at the same time in disagreeable or mortifying circumstances? Do you delight to see her approved and beloved, even by those who do not pay you equal attention? Are you afflicted and humbled, when she is found to be in fault, though you yourself are remarkably clear from the same offence? If your heart assures you of the affirmative to these questions, then may you think yourself a kind sister, and a generous friend; for you must observe, that scarcely any creature is so depraved as not to be capable of kind affections in some circumstances. We are all naturally benevolent, when no selfish interest interferes, and where no advantage is to be given up: we can all pity distress, when it lies complaining at our feet, and confesses our superiority and happier situation; but we have seen the sufferer himself become the object of envy and ill-will, as soon as his fortitude and greatness of mind had begun to attract admiration, and to make the envious person feel the superiority of virtue above good fortune.

To take sincere pleasure in the blessings and excellences of others, is a much surer mark of benevolence than to pity their calamities: and you must always acknowledge yourself ungenerous and selfish, whenever you are less ready to rejoice with them that do rejoice," than to "weep with them that weep." If ever your commnendations of others are forced from you, by the fear of betraying your envy or if ever you feel a secret desire to mention something that may abate the admiration given them, do not try to conceal the base disposition from yourself, since that is not the way to cure it.

Human nature is ever liable to corruption, and has in it

the seeds of every vice, will be continually shooting forth and growing up, if not carefully watched and rooted out as fast as they appear. It is the business of religion to purify and exalt us, from a state of imperfection and infirmity, to that which is necessary and essential to happiness. Envy would make us miserable in heaven itself, could it be admitted there; for we must there see beings far more excellent, and consequently more happy than ourselves; and, till we can rejoice in seeing virtue rewarded in proportion to its degree, we can never hope to be among the number of the blessed.

Watch then, and observe every evil propensity of your heart, that you may in time correct it, with the assistance of that grace which alone can conquer the evils of our nature, and which you must constantly and earnestly implore.

Even those vices which you would blush to own, and which most effectually defile and vilify the female heart, may by degrees be introduced into yours, to the ruin of that virtue, without which, misery and shame must be your portion; unless the avenues of the heart are guarded by a sincere abhorrence of every thing that approaches towards evil. Would you be of the number of those blessed" who are pure in heart," you must hate and avoid every thing, both in books and in conversation, that conveys impure ideas, however neatly clothed in decent language, or recommended to your taste by pretended refinements, and tender sentiments-by elegance of style, or force of wit and genius.

In the following tale you will find many of the foregoing observations fully exemplified. In poor Fanny Hastings you will see a true picture of a heart and affections not governed by any just principles. May these fatal consequences be timely averted!

THE SOLDIER'S RETURN;

A TALE.

FANNY HASTINGS was the daughter of a publican in the little town of ---- in South Wales. When she was only eight years old both her parents died, and she became dependent on the kindness of an aunt, and on the labours of her own hands, for support; and she soon found sufficient employment to enable her, with the aid of her re

lation, not only to maintain herself, but to appear better dressed than many girls whose situation in life was not higher than her own.

Fanny was beautiful; so much so, that her beauty was the subject of conversation, even amongst the most genteel circles, and many a youth of the same station with herself was eager to be her accepted lover; but professions of love she listened to with pleasure from one only.

Llewellyn Morgan, with his father and mother, and his cousin Mary, was her opposite neighbour. His father was a carpenter, his mother took in plain-work, and he himself was undecided whether to follow his father's business, or seek a different employment, when he fell in love with our handsome sempstress.

Fanny, whether from coquetry or convenience, always sat by the window at work; it was therefore impossible for her not to observe Llewellyn sometimes, particularly as he was young, neatly dressed, well made, and as much an object of admiration to the women, as she was to the men; besides, his eyes seemed to be often on the watch for hers, and it would have been cruel to disappoint them.

But though Llewellyn's eyes had been talkative, his tongue was still silent, though the state of his heart began to be suspected at home. His father observed that he ceased to be as eager to settle in some business as he used to be; his mother said he was no longer as attentive as usual in anticipating her wishes; and his cousin Mary remarked, in an accent unusually sarcastic for her, that Llewellyn had time for nothing but looking out of the window.

"That seems a good industrious girl who lives opposite," said his father, taking his cue from the deep blush that overspread Llewellyn's face at Mary's observation.

"I dare say she would make a good wife," added his mother. Llewellyn's head absolutely dropped on his waistcoat, but he remained silent.

"She is pretty looking," said Mary, in a faltering voice.

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Pretty looking!" cried Llewellyn, roused to utterance by indignation-pretty looking, indeed; she is an angel!

His parents smothered a laugh; and Mary, suppressing a sigh, turned up her meek eyes to heaven, and soon after made an excuse for taking a walk. To be brief, Llewellyn's parents told him they saw the state of his heart, and that if he wished to make Fanny his wife, they gave him their consent to try his fortune with her,

But, true love is always timid; and though Llewellyn's

parents had consented, would she, and would her aunt consent? But they were opposite neighbours, and Llewellyn soon learned to take advantage of opportunity: he first began to make acquaintance with Fanny by handing her over the kennel when she went to carry home her work; then, he begged leave to carry her parcel for her, and so on: and these attentions, at last, Fanny received so graciously, and was so often coming to the window to thread her needle, that Llewellyn began to flatter himself that her heart was a little touched in his favour. True, there were other opposite neighbours to Fanny, young men too, who had time to look out of the window as well as he; but then Llewellyn did not know that, and he thought Fanny's needle-threadings were all for him; however, he was right in taking the smile and nod which she gave on these occasions to himself, and Llewellyn was authorised to hope; but when he was on the point of declaring his love, Fanny fell ill, and was confined to her bed.

Oh, the anxiety of poor Llewellyn! He walked tiptoe across the floor of his own house, as if fearful of disturbing the invalid over the way; and on his mother's complaining of a bad head-ache, and not being able to bear any noise, he flew to expend his little earnings on a litter of straw to lay before the door, and having bought enough for both sides of the way, he sent to Fanny's aunt, and asked permission to lay it before her door too. He said, nay, even persuaded himself that he did this merely for the sake of his mother, but Fanny and her aunt thought otherwise, and Mary too; and when Fanny recovered, she thanked him for his attention in a manner so tender, that he took courage, declared his love, and was accepted.

The next thing to be done was to choose a trade, or rather to let Fanny choose it for him, and she decided that he should follow his father's business; but, as he had it yet to learn, it was judged imprudent for them to marry immediately; and the young couple were looking forward to the hour that was to unite them, when an increase of the standing army, in consequence of the declaration of war, and the gradual change of private citizens into soldiers, produced an alteration, not only in the appearance of the place, but in the manners of its inhabitants.

A military spirit pervaded the whole town; the industrious artisan forsook his workshop to lounge on the parade; here too the servant girl shewed herself in her Sunday clothes; and even Fanny, preferred listening to the mi

litary band, and beholding the military array, to a quiet walk in the fields with her lover.

But the sound of martial music was not the only one that reached and delighted her ear. Praises of her beauty ran along the ranks. Some young men, who had in vain sought Fanny's attention when they wore the plain dress of tradesmen, now took pains to attract her eyes, by their dexterity in the manuel, and by displaying to all possible advantage the brilliancy of their dress, in order, perhaps, to let Fanny feel the value of the prize which she had rejected; while others, not content with exciting her regret for her cruelty to them, were still desirous of gaining her love; and, unawed by the almost fierce looks of Llewellyn, persisted in making way for her in the crowd, that she might hear the band to advantage.

And but too often, Fanny, delighted at the attention paid her, rewarded it by smiles so gracious, that they conreyed hopes and joy to the bosom of her attendants, and fear and jealousy to that of her lover. Not that Llewellyn was sorry to see the woman of his choice the object of general admiration; on the contrary, he would have felt pleasure in it, had not Fanny seemed to enjoy it so much herself; but he saw her eyes sparkle at other praises than his, and he always returned from the parade displeased with Fanny, and dissatisfied with himself.

Still he had not resolution to refuse to accompany her every evening to a scene so fatal to his peace; and if he had, he feared that she might resolve to go thither without him; and he was as wretched as an accepted lover could be, when a day was fixed on for a review of the regulars quartered in the town and its environs, and of the newraised militia.

"Only think, Llewellyn," said Fanny to her lover, "there is going to be a review!"

"And what then?" replied he in a peevish accent, displeased at the joy that sparkled in her eyes.

"What then?" rejoined the mortified beauty," only I— I never saw a review in my life."

"And I do not know that it signifies whether you ever see one or no," returned Llewellyn, still more pettishly. "I am of a different opinion," retorted Fanny, "and if you do not take me to see the review next week, I know who will-that's all:" and away she walked in all the dignity of conscious and offended power.

Nor did she overrate her influence. Llewellyn's jealousy

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