treasures with him, but some bulbs, and seeds for the garden; and from that time, as long as he lived with us, which was until his eighty-sixth year, he presided entirely over the horticultural part of our establishment.

Miss Dulcey made our wedding a day of vast bustle; nor were my other dear pupils backward in any little services within their power; and they actually, all together, made my parlour (we had but one, as we lived habitually in our best kitchen) the admiration of the whole village. Our income, when we settled, was a hundred a year from the living, with a house, and a few acres of land: a salary from my cousin above our expectation, and a few hundreds of mine; of which, however, we have annually, through the divine favour, been enabled to put by the interest; so that, with four hundred and fifty pounds left me some years since by my ever-to-be-loved cousin, or rather, I should say, my second father, we have made a comfortable little sum against a rainy day.

I have been blessed with six children: four are now living, but two passed away in their infancy into a state of glory; nor would I wish them with me again; we have two sons and two daughters. I have tried to educate the last rather with the view of making them plain mens' wives than of sending them out into the world. When I remember my own trials, all of which I have not spoken of, as not being necessary to my story, I cannot but wonder that any mother should rather see her daughter a governess than a respectable wife in an humbler station. I could wish that such situations as that of the governess should be left for the daughters of unfortunate gentlemen; for young women of family without fortune, or orphans of a certain degree; were it so, young ladies in the trying situation of preceptresses would be more respected, and every thing would be more in its place. But what avails my opinion? the world will go on in its own way when I have said all I have to say, and the fashion of bringing up every portionless girl as a governess will continue till the evil cures itself.

And now I conclude, by thanking my God for the peace, nay, happiness, I have enjoyed ever since I became a wife. My cup of comfort has indeed run over. I have had one of the best of husbands. I have witnessed with pleasure his humble and unwearied labours

in his parish. I have been permitted to make the last years of my cousin's life as happy as the present state of this earth will admit. Three of my dearest pupils are settled about me, namely, Miss Wynne, Miss Fenton, and Miss Dudley, all being married to gentlemen in the country. I have seen my children growing up around my table as I could wish; and lastly, though infinitely most important, I have reason to think, nay, I am assured, that there is a divine hand leading on all I love to that land which is very far off, where we shall see the King in his beauty, and shall be better able to understand the consolatory truth which our spiritual enemy would willingly hide from us, namely, that God is love.

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LE FEVRE.

THE beautiful province of Normandy, in France, has long been celebrated in history and fiction. Every Englishman must feel an interest in this country, because it was, in some respect, the seat of our fathers, the nursery of our present race of kings, and the scene of many a gallant exploit of our ancient princes and nobles. The times, indeed, are passing away in which the characters of the ambitious warrior, or the champions of the sword, are held up to the adoration of the multitude: nevertheless, the humble Christian finds ample occasion from these recollections for praising Him who has rendered the very vices of his creatures subservient to the general good of mankind, and has derived blessings to his chosen people from the grasping violence of William of Normandy, and the mad impetuosity of the gallant Richard, whose "lion's heart" now lies mouldering beneath the marble pavement of the cathedral of Rouen.

Independent, however, of these accidental circumstances (if accidental is a word allowed to a Christian), by which this province of Normandy is rendered thus interesting to the English traveller, many parts of it possess attractions which must have power over every heart, and must have a captivating effect to every eye. The road from Paris to Rouen lies through some of the finest parts of this beautiful region.

Scarcely has the traveller passed the towers of St. Germaine (beneath which the unfortunate James of England finished his disastrous reign), and left behind him the royal forest which is attached to the castle, before he enters a region of such smiling fertility, such apparent happiness, and rich abundance of natural beauties, that he is almost led to ask-How is it possible that the natives of such a paradise should be discontented? and how can we account for the wrecks and devastations of revolutionary fury, which are here as apparent as in the most dry and barren province of the realm?

The stone crucifixes and symbols of idolatry, which continually meet the eye at every turning of the road (although many of these have been mutilated by the hand of infidel rage), suggest the answer to this inquiry. Where the heart is not right towards God, no gifts of nature or of fortune can give peace of mind: on the contrary, in the absence of grace, prosperity itself excites proud and vindictive passions, and the trials inflicted by adversity only tend to harden. Heaven was no longer heaven to the rebellious angels when pride and ambition took possession of their minds; and the dreadful fall of these once-glorious spirits will afford a warning to all created beings, throughout the endless circles of eternity, and through the boundless regions of endless space. We must not, therefore, be surprised to find misery in the extreme in this lovely region, although its hills are clothed to their summits with vines; although gushing fountains and springs of the clearest water pour from every height; although the thatched cottages by the wayside are decorated with roses; although the fruit-trees-the pear, the apple, and the cherry-bend down in their season under their nectared burdens; though bees delight to dwell in every field, and every village may boast its little woods, its taper spire, and its venerable chateau, the relics of ancient feudal magnificence.

Such features as those above described, ever varied, and ever presenting themselves in new groups and points of view, are what offer themselves continually to the eye of the traveller on the road I am describing. And if we add to these the perpetual recurrence of the Seine, from whose fertile banks the highway seldom diverges to any great distance-with occasional scenes, in which the hills affect a bolder form, and the smaller woods assume the character of forests-in which the river is seen gushing under the stone arches of some bridge deep in the valley, and shaded by the silver willow-or the heights above the road show rough with rocks of granite, which project from the greensward like giants' tombs, or ruins of cities and towns whose record is now no more-we have done all that in us lies to describe the continual feasts which are prepared for the eye of the traveller in Higher Normandy: and though there are certain manufactories situated in some parts of the Valley of the Seine, these are, for the most part, ar

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