sincere and her amendment sure, because she was now in earnest.

One day while her affectionate aunt was sitting beside her, Lucy looked into her mild, patient, and benevolent face, bent over her in tenderness and pity; and her little heart which had been almost bursting with its load of grief, could no longer contain its emotion. "Oh, my dear, kind, forgiving aunt," said she, "I do hope this last dreadful lesson of experience will make me a better girl. I would not learn from you, though you talked to me so very kindly and so often too. Nor when I suffered so much from my foolish and wicked conduct about the dress, that disagreeable day at Brookline. You shewed me then as clear as day, the lesson my heavenly Father was teaching me, by all the bad accidents I met with and all the shame I felt; but I soon forgot all that—though you told me that if I did not correct my faults with a little suffering, something worse would be sent to me. And now my great sins have brought this great punishment. Oh my dear aunt," continued Lucy, sobbing with deep repentance, "tell me, shall I forget this too?—shall I forget how patiently you have watched by me all through my sickness, and how kindly you have spoken to me, just as if I had not brought it all on myself—and though I have often, very often been cross to Emily, and never liked to share any of my good things with her, she has left all her companions, and all her plays and pleasures to come and sit up in this dark, dull room, to amuse me and wait upon me—shall I—can I forget all this as I did the other things?"

"No my dear, penitent girl," said her aunt, kissing her affectionately, "you have indeed paid most dearly, (as I have feared you would) for your instruction. I rejoice to see that you are determined to improve by these painful lessons, they will not I am sure be lost upon you; God has mercifully spared your life. When I think of your dreadful fall, and all the circumstances of that sad day, I am truly astonished that you have lived through them all, that your neck as well as your limbs was not broken; and when I remember the chance there was of your taking so much of that horrible poison into your stomach, as would have rendered all medicines useless, I shudder at the thought; you have felt the danger, and have suffered much pain—you know your own faults have caused it all—you say you repent, and if you do so sincerely you will amend."

"Oh, I do, I do repent," sobbed Lucy.

"Then be comforted my love—you will amend, and be forgiven, I am certain, and we shall all have reason to rejoice with you, and bless these distressing but most useful lessons of experience.