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There is something in the season of
Spring which peculiarly excites the feelings
of devotion. The dreariness of winter has
passed, and with it, the deadened affections of
our nature. New life, new vigour, arises
within us, as we walk abroad and feel the
genial gales of April breathe upon us; and
our hopes—our wishes, awaken with the revival
of the vegetable world. It is then that
the heart, which has been impressed with the
goodness of the Creator, feels that goodness
brought, as it were, in very contact with our
senses. The eye loves to wander over the
bountiful provisions nature is throwing forth
in every direction for our comfort; and fixing
its gaze on the clouds, which having lost
the chilling thinness of winter, roll in rich
volumes, amidst the clear and softened fields
of azure so peculiar to the season, and leads
the mind insensibly to dwell on the things of
another and a better world. It was on such
a day, the inhabitants of B— thronged toward
the village church, for the double purpose
of pouring out their thanksgivings, and
of hearing the first efforts of their rector's
child, in the duties of his sacred calling.

Amongst the crowd, whom curiosity or a
better feeling had drawn forth, were to be
seen the modern equipages of the Jarvises,

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and the handsome carriages of Sir Edward
Moseley and his sister. All the members of
this latter family felt a lively anxiety for the
success of the young divine. But knowing,
as they well did, the strength of his native talents,
the excellency of his education, and the
fervour of his piety, it was an anxiety that
partook more of hope than of fear. There
was one heart, however, amongst them, that
palpitated with an emotion that hardly admitted
of control, as they approached the sacred
edifice, and which had identified itself
with the welfare of the rector's son. There
never was a softer, truer heart, than that
which now almost audibly beat within the
bosom of Clara Moseley; and she had given
it to the young divine with all its purity and
truth.

The entrance of a congregation into the
sanctuary will at all times furnish, to an attentive
observer, food for much useful speculation,
if it he chastened with a proper charity
for the weaknesses of others; and most
people are ignorant of the insight they are
giving into their characters and dispositions,
by such an apparently trivial circumstance
as their weekly approach to the tabernacles
of the Lord. Christianity, while it chasteneth
and amends the heart, leaves the natural
powers unaltered; and it cannot be doubted,
that its operation is, or ought to be, proportionate
to the abilities and opportunities of
the subject of its holy impression—“unto

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whomsoever much is given, much will be required.”
And at the same time we acknowledge,
that the thoughts might be better employed
in preparing for those humiliations of
the spirit and thanksgiving of the heart,
which are required of all, and are so necessary
to all; we must be indulged in a hasty
view of some of the personages of our history,
as they entered the church of B—. On
the countenance of the baronet, was the dignity
and composure of a mind at peace with
itself and mankind. His step was rather
more deliberate than common; his eye rested
on the pavement, and on turning into his
pew, as he prepared to kneel, in the first humble
petition of our beautiful service, he raised
it towards the altar, with an expression of
benevolence and reverence, that spoke contentment,
not unmixed with faith.

In the demeanour of Lady Moseley, all
was graceful and decent, although nothing
could be said to be studied. She followed
her husband with a step of equal deliberation,
that was slightly varied by an observance
of a manner which appeared natural to
herself, but might have been artificial to another:
her cambric handkerchief concealed
her face as she sunk composedly by the side
of Sir Edward, in a style which showed, that
while she remembered her Maker, she had
not entirely forgotten herself.

The walk of Mrs. Wilson was quicker
than that of her sister. Her eye directed

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before her, fixed, as if in settled gaze, on that
eternity to which she was approaching. The
lines of her contemplative face were unaltered,
unless there might be traced a deeper
shade of humility than was ordinarily seen
on her pale, but expressive countenance: her
petition was long; and on rising from her
humble posture, the person was indeed to
be seen, but the soul appeared absorbed in
contemplations far beyond the limits of this
sphere.

There was a restlessness and varying of
colour, in the ordinarily placid Clara, which
prevented a display of her usual manner;
while Jane walked gracefully, and with a
tincture of her mother's form, by her side.
She stole one hastily withdrawn glance to
the deanery pew ere she kneeled, and then,
on rising, handed her smelling bottle affectionately
to her elder sister.

Emily glided behind her companions with
a face beaming with a look of innocence and
love. As she sunk in the act of supplication,
the rich glow of her healthful cheek lost some
of its brilliancy; but, on rising, it beamed
with a renewed lustre, that plainly indicated
a heart sensibly touched with the sanctity of
its situation.

In the composed and sedate manner of Mr.
Jarvis, as he steadily pursued his way to the
pew of Sir William Harris, you might have
been justified in expecting the entrance of another
Sir Edward Moseley in substance, if

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not in externals; but his deliberate separation
of the flaps of his coat, as he comfortably
seated himself, when you thought him
about to kneel, and followed by a pinch of
snuff, as he threw his eye around in examination
of the building, led you at once to
conjecture, that what at first you had mistaken
for reverence, was the abstraction of
some earthly calculation; and that his attendance
was in compliance with custom, and
not a little depended upon the thickness of
his cushions, and the room he found for the
disposition of his unwieldy legs.

The ladies of the family followed, in garments
carefully selected for the advantageous
display of their persons. As they sailed into
their seats, where it would seem the improvidence
of Sir William's steward had neglected
some important accommodation, (for some
time was spent in preparation to be seated,)
the old lady, whose size and flesh really put
kneeling out of the question, bent forward
for a moment at an angle of eighty with the
horizon, while her daughters prettily bowed
their heads, with all proper precaution for the
safety of their superb millinery.

At length the rector, accompanied by his
son, appeared from the vestry. There was
a dignity and solemnity in the manner in
which this pious divine entered on the duties
of his profession, which struck forcibly on
the imaginations of those who witnessed it,
and disposed the heart to listen, with

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reverence and humility, to precepts that flowed
from so impressive an exterior. The stillness
of expectation pervaded the church; when
the pew opener led the way to the same interesting
father and son, whose entrance had
interrupted the guests the preceding day at
the rectory. Every eye was turned on the
emaciated parent, bending into the grave,
and, as it were, kept from it by the supporting
tenderness of his child. Hastily throwing
open the door of her pew, Mrs. Ives buried
her face in her handkerchief; and her husband
had proceeded far in the morning service,
before she raised it again to the view of
the congregation. In the voice of the rector,
there was an unusual softness and tremor, that
his people attributed to the feelings of a father,
about to witness the first efforts of an
only child in his arduous duties, but which in
reality were owing to another and a deeper
cause.

Prayers were ended, and the younger Ives
ascended the pulpit; for a moment he paused—
and casting one anxious glance to the pew
of the baronet, he commenced his sermon.
He had chosen for his discourse the necessity
of placing our dependence on divine grace
for happiness here or hereafter. After having
learnedly, but in the most unaffected manner,
displayed the necessity of this dependence, as
affording security against the evils of this life,
he proceeded to paint the hope, the resignation,
the felicity of a christian's death-bed.

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Warmed by the subject, his animation had
given a heightened interest to his language;
and at a moment, when all around him were
entranced by the eloquence of the youthful
divine, a sudden and deep-drawn sigh drew
every eye to the rector's pew. The younger
stranger sat motionless as a statue, holding in
his arms the lifeless body of his parent, who
had fallen that moment a corpse by his side.
All was now confusion: the almost insensible
young man was relieved from his burthen;
and, led by the rector, they left the church.
The congregation dispersed in silence, or assembled
in little groups, to converse on the
awful event they had witnessed. None knew
the deceased; he was the rector's friend, and
to his residence the body had been removed.
The young man was evidently his child; but
here all information ended. They had arrived
in a private chaise, but with post horses,
and without attendants. Their arrival
at the parsonage was detailed, with a few
exaggerations, by the Jarvis ladies, that gave
additional interest to the whole event; and
which, by creating an impression with those,
gentler feelings would not have restrained,
there was something of mystery about them;
prevented many distressing questions to the
Ives', that the baronet's family forbore putting
on the score of delicacy. The body left
B— at the close of the week, accompanied
by Francis Ives and the unwearied attentions
of the interesting son. The doctor and

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his wife went into deep mourning, and Clara
received a short note from her lover, on the
morning of their departure, acquainting her
with his intended absence for a month, but
throwing no light upon the affair. The
London papers, however, contained the following
obituary notice, and which, as it
could refer to no other, was universally supposed
to allude to the rector's friend.

“Died, suddenly, at B—, on the 20th
instant, George Denbigh, Esq. aged 63.”

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