Merciful Father of heaven, for Jesus Christ my Saviour's sake, receive my soul into thy hands.' In this attitude he continued, without either crying or moving, until Soyce striking him forcibly on the head with his halbert, his brains fell out, and the corpse dropped down into the fire." Story of Eliza Rivers. (From a Review of "the Favourite of Nature.") ELIZA RIVERS, the heroine of the tale, was an orphan; her parents died while she was yet an infant, and left her to the care of her paternal grandmother, her only surviving relative. Eliza was placed by Mrs. Rivers at a fashionable boarding school in the vicinity of London, from whence she returned with many brilliant and fashionable acquirements, but with an enthusiasm of disposition which she had never been taught to repress; and which the trite and homely observations of her grandmother were ill calculated to correct. At the deathbed of this loved relative, Eliza was first awoke to a sense of her imperfections. It was here that, "for the first time, she seriously reflected upon the manner in which nineteen years of her life had flitted like a dream away, and left her without one remembrance which she could wish to retain, to cheer her in her last hours." She attended her grandmother with the most assiduous care, and watched over her with the most affectionate tenderness; but the inevitable hour was at hand, and Mrs. Rivers breathed her last. Miss Rivers was now bereft of every relative. The estate on which she had resided with her grandmother became the property of the next male heir; and, with a fortune of £5000, she took up her residence with her guardian, Mr. Henley, the rector of Fairfield, who had a daughter, Louisa, about six years older than Eliza, and whose character exhibited the greatest contrast to her's. Louisa was mild and reserved; she had learnt to repress her passions, and to guide her conduct by the precepts of religion, and the dicfates of duty. A calm equanimity cha racterized her actions, and she kept on the "even tenor of her way," doing all the good which her situation afforded her an opportunity of doing; and never evincing any of that restless, dissatisfied disposition, which generally marks a less regulated mind. Louisa was not calculated to win the confidence of the ardent and impetuous Eliza, the child of enthusiasm and of excitement. She had, unfortunately, another friend and confidante, a Miss Brooke, a West-Indian heiress, who resided with her aunt, Lady Delville, in the neighbouring town of Belton. A correspondence between these two young ladies displays, most admirably, the particular qualities and tempera ture of each; and a letter of Louisa's shows how much Eliza was mistaken when she accused her of coldness and insensibility. Soon after Eliza had taken up ber residence at Mr. Henley's, Sir George Melmoth, the heir to her grandmother's estate, came down to take possession of the property. Sir George was a good-humoured, unassuming young man, and was soon on good terms with all the families in the neighbour, hood, whom he visited, and invited in return. A friend of Sir George's, a Mr. Waldegrave, joined him soon after his arrival in the country. Sir George had described him to Eliza as a person who knew and was known by every body; and who would make a very good husband if he would leave off the ridiculous habit of pretending to fall in love with every woman to whom he was introduced. Miss Brooke, (who had known Waldegrave at Paris), on the contrary, announced him as the most interesting of men. It was at Sir George Melmoth's that Eliza and Waldegrave first saw each other. As Waldegrave had great influence on the future fate of Eliza, we give the part which describes their meeting: "Eliza had many times in her life looked more winning, more endearing; but never did her beauty more forcibly display its distinguishing characteristic of dignified, almost majestic, loveliness than when she walked into Sir George Melmoth's drawing-room. "An indistinct feeling of something approaching to humiliation, at being received as a guest in a house where she had so long resided with nearly the authority of a mistress, had given her an idea that, in making this visit, it would be necessary for her to maintain all her consequence. Her fine tall figure, more than usually erect, her Grecian expression of feature, grave, but marked with decided sense and intelligence, combining in her whole appearance, an object of the deepest interest and admiration; it was thus that she first met the view of Mr. Waldegrave. The common introduction passed between them; but she had scarcely observed him-other ideas had crowded upon her mind, a weight of indefinable sensation pressed upon a heart that beat responsive to the slightest touch of feeling." "Whether it arose from her being slightly prejudiced against him, or that the report she had heard of him convinced her that Mr. Waldegrave must be, beyond redemption, the most egregious fop, a coxcomb, a dandy, or something equally ridiculous, that ever was known, she was certainly agreeably disappointed, in the first impression that his appearance made. To her extreme astonishment, his neckcloth was tied in no uncommon manner. Apparently he did not indulge himself in the gratification of a pasteboard pillory; and seemed to have retained a predilection for the power of using his head, by turning it in any direction that nature designed. The whole of his dress was as far removed from any thing that could be thought coxcombical, or affected, as could be well conceived. His whole deportment was, undoubtedly, that of the accomplished gentleman.” Mr. Waldegrave proved just the man to interest Eliza, and she found herself irresistibly charmed with his company, The penchant was mutual: but the charm was dissolved by the departure of the gentleman, with Sir George Melmoth. Eliza, perhaps, was not decidedly in love; but she preferred Mr. Waldegrave before the rest of his sex, sufficiently to make her feel regret at his absence. Soon after, the acquaintance with Mr. Waldegrave was thus broken off, a serious indisposition rendered Mr. Henley unable to attend to the duties of his calling; and a nephew, Mortimer Durand, came to officiate for his uncle, and to reside in the house. He saw Eliza, and loved. We cannot follow the tale, in the progress of this passion in Mortimer, and the transition from indifference to interest, to esteem, and at last to a passion, if not love, yet approaching so nearly to it in Eliza, that she mistook one sensation for the other, and became the affianced wife of Mortimer Durand. Here the novel becomes very interesting: the struggle between the feelings with which Mr. Waldegrave inspired Eliza, which she could not entirely subdue, and which are restored to almost their pristine vigour, by an accidental interview with the object of them, and the duty due to Mortimer; who, with the piety of a Christian, and the ardour of pure affection, sought to lead her from earth to heaven; to teach her the practice of virtue, and to render her as beautiful in mind, as she was perfect in form. After many struggles within herself, in which her secret inclinations for Waldegrave are encouraged by the injudicious counsels of Miss Brooke; after many little disputes and reconciliations, in which the ardent love of Mortimer shines conspicuous, and is most tenderly and chastely depicted, Eliza departs for London, to spend a winter with Miss Brooke and Lady Delville; and leaves Fairfield with a determination of writing to Mortimer an account of her change of sentiments, and a wish to dissolve their engagement. A letter which Louisa, unknown to Mortimer, addressed to her, in which she mentioned the reports that were prevalent in the village, relative to Eliza's attachment to Waldegrave; and also the bad state of Mortimer's health, in terms of, what Miss Rivers deemed, reproach, afforded her an opportunity of putting her design in execution-she wrote to Mortimer, and rejected him! In London, Waldegrave and Eliza soon met-they soon discover that they loved-and an interview, in which Mr. Waldegrave intended to take his final leave, and put himself out of the reach of attractions which he could not with honour contemplate, ended in a mutual eclaircisement; and Eliza became the happiest of women, in the assurance of being the beloved of him who had made the first impression on her youthful fancy-who had first taught her that she had a heart. Poor Eliza, however, was not doomed long to be happy. Her love was too ardent, too enthusiastic, too much centred in one object, to be met with equal ardour, after the first impulse was over, by the worldly-minded Waldegrave. She saw but one being whom she wished to please, or feared to disobey; he was all the world to her; and she sought not applause or approbation, except from him-for him. "Time and familiarity did for him what they very often do for ardent lovers. They opened his eyes; and then he saw Eliza's sensibility no longer as an attraction, but as the bane of all attraction; the rock on which she wrecked her beauty, her talents, her capability of exciting a sensation wherever she went of being the idol of a crowd-of being the fashion--in short, of being every thing that the most ambitious of her sex could desire." Mortimer was now revenged. She suffered from Waldegrave's neglect the pangs which she had caused Durand to feel; and when business called Walde grave from England, and he neglected writing to her, her anguish and distress were almost beyond her strength to bear. She was now residing at Kensington, with a lady who had been her French governess. The death of her friend, Miss Brooke's father, had placed that young lady in the possession of immense wealth. She was returned to Belton, with her aunt, Lady Delville, in order to arrange her affairs there, preparatory to returning to London, to open the ensuing winter season with eclât. Eliza would not return to Fairfield, where Mortimer, who loved her as such a woman wished to be loved with the greatest ardour-was mourning her loss, and rapidly approaching "that bourne from whence no traveller returns." Thus situated, she took up her residence, during Waldegrave's absence, at Kensington, as we have men tioned-looking forward to the period of his return, with hopes; yet fearing that return would not bring happiness to her. Here, whilst lamenting the prolonged absence, and continued silence of Waldegrave, she received a letter from Louisa Henley, announcing the death of Mortimer; and enclosing an epistle from the latter to her, fraught with all the tenderness of affection with all the piety of a rational and sincere Christian, who looks for his reward in another world, and considers the privations and disappointments of this life, as trials to fit us for a better. "With hands clasped, as in the fervour of repentant feeling, and with tears and sighs that almost convulsed her, Eliza repeatedly paused in the perusal of this last memento of poor Mortimer. Her uplifted eyes seemed to seek him in his happier dwellingplace, and to appeal to him, as if his beatified spirit could infuse a portion of its own peace into her troubled heart. "Look down upon me, dear sainted friend!" she exclaimed, look down upon your poor Eliza, sorely beset, and encompassed as she is with overwhelming passions.' "Then reading on, some fresh proof of the invaluable attachment, the treasure of affection, which she had so wantonly cast away, burst upon her, and, as if a veil had fallen from her. eyes, now, for the first time-now, that all was gone, she could understand the full extent of her loss. "And he might have been mine!' said she, this heart, so pious, so gentle, so affectionate, it might have been mine! and I should have had a friend and a counsellor, and one that would have loved me! And what have I now? I have no friend-none-none. Waldegrave forsakes me--I have no friend.'” The sequel is soon told: Waldegrave returned from the Continent, ruined by gambling; he avoided his de ceived and heart-broken Eliza, as much as possible, and attached himself to her rich friend, Miss Brooke. It was now that she felt the difference between that young lady's ostentatious sympathy, and Miss Henley's quiet unobtrusive friendship. She mourned the injustice she had done to Louisa-broke off the connexion with Waldegrave, and returned to Fairfield, to learn the value of early placing a control over the imagination, to imbibe the consoling influence of religion, and to die! Her last moments are thus described, by Louisa, in a letter to her aunt, the mother of in a letter to her aunt, the mother of Mortimer; who, notwithstanding the untimely fate of her son, through his attachment for her, felt much interested in Eliza. Voyage from Ogdensburgh to (From Harris's Tour through the United States.) for the passage, and our vessel being PROVISIONS having been laid in planked to the height of two feet above the gunwhale, to prevent the breakers from entering, we left Ogdensburgh at nine in the morning, with a cargo of ashes and pork. Having passed Johnstown, four miles below, an increase of "She continued during the night current was very perceptible, and, as we drew near the first rapid, several gradually sinking, but as gentle as an accounts were related of vessels wreckinfant falls asleep. The sun began to ed in their passage; and of the diffirise, and was already glancing its beams upon the window. I looked from it culty with which their crew escaped, indebted in many instances for their upon the glorious objects; never was seen a more enchanting morning! The lives to a box or an oar; our comearly birds were flying about, and sing-panions eagerly listened to these hairing upon every bush and tree, as if they did not know how to contain them selves for joy. "I sighed as I remembered my poor Eliza's desire to depart under the cheering influence of day-light. Alas! her wishes were upon the eve of accomplishment! "I returned to my station by her bed-side; my father sat on the other side, watching her with anxious solicitude. "She appeared to have fallen into a slumber-but suddenly she pronounced my name. "I bent my head close to her's, the better to distinguish her accents, now but faint and low. "See how bright a day!' said she, let me look at it." I undrew the curtains of her bed, and of the window, and raised her in my arms. "She turned her dying eyes upon the light of heaven, and then on me. I pressed her hand to my lips; it was wet with my tears. - "Oh, Louisa,' said she, 'my guide -my tender friend-God for ever bless you!—and you too, good Sir,' and she clasped with fervour my poor father's hand, who was affected to a degree I had never seen him before. "God bless you both,' she again repeated, and, sinking on my bosom she heaved a deep sigh-another-and she was gone." breadths escapes, and by the manner in which they eyed and handled every trunk and spar, it might be judged, their own situation at the moment was thought very precarious: swell succeeding swell allowed no time for expressing any thing like fear, but the countenance frequently betrayed uneasiness, when the yawning waves exposed some frightful rock; to us a Dreadful port "Of observation!" With the rapidity of an arrow, we seemed to dart through these rapids of from one to three miles in length; houses, trees, and rocks, appeared to fly behind us. Having passed three of the rapids, we entered lake St. Francis; the wind being contrary, we had recourse to oars, and came to, in the evening, on the left bank, off the first house in Lower Canada. "Next morning at day-break got under weigh, heaving to again at the outlet of the lake for breakfast, a pilot, and permission to pass the fort at the rapid dulac: on entering this formidable succession of breakers, we found the advantage of a pilot, as several rafts of timber in company with us suffered exceedingly on the rocks; a small interval of smooth water, and another still greater fall, presented itself off the town of Des Cedres; its distant hollow roar apprising us of our approach to one, where neither box As we nor oar could avail us much. were endeavouring to work in under the town, that we might avoid being drawn down the wrong channel, we were observed by the inhabitants, who in numbers lined the bank, and, in the true spirit of benevolence, offered up their supplications on our behalf, kneeling before a cross, several of which we saw erected on the bank as we passed along. After turning the angle on which Des Cedres is built, the rapidity of our motion scarcely permitted us to notice any thing but the breakers, which, for miles before us, threatened to baffle all the pilot's skill, and the exertion of the crew, to conduct us through in safety. At the moment when some were beginning to deprecate their temerity, a terrific howl was heard behind us, and, turning, we had the melancholy sight of two rafts in the wrong channel, borne with amazing velocity towards the precipice. An island which separates the two channels prevented our witnessing the concluding catastrophe; but the stranded timber and lacerated bodies, which, in a few moments, presented themselves to our view, proved it to be-a howl of death. On clearing the rapids, our attention was powerfully arrested by the beauties of the prospect as we entered the small lake of St. Louis. The Utawas, or Grand River, lined with wood and babitations, discharging its ruddy tribute into the St. Lawrence on the left, in front the village of La Chine, and the three currents in the island of Montreal; and, on the right, the river and village of Chataugay, with the high lands of lake Champlain in the distance. The wind being ahead, we entered the Chataugay, in the evening, by the assistance of the oars, and remained at the village that night. It is principally inhabited by French Canadians, a dirty race of beings. Here is a pretty neat church with a spire, whose interior decorations are not of that gaudy style which offends the eye in some churches I have seen. A nunnery of St. Sulpicians formerly existed here; and a considerable tract of land and buildings, with the island formed by the river, still belongs to that order. The wind favoured us in the morning; being provided with a pilot, we dropped down the Chataugay, which, in its regular width of about twenty yards, resembles a canal, and again entered the St. Lawrence, whose banks now presented a continuation of villages and country seats: the numerous crosses and spires, with the ringing of the matin bell, altogether different from what I had for some time seen, led me to suppose myself on the European Continent. As we drew near to the village of La Chine, we perceived the current increasing in force; the inhabitants of this and of the village on the opposite shore, watching with apparent anxiety the course we were taking; we observed the extraordinary caution which the captain and pilot manifested, and their hesitation lest the wind might affect us: all confirmed the accounts we had before heard, that the rapids we were now entering were more dreadful than any of the preceding. But reflection was soon at an end; the spectators on the banks quickly lost sight of us; like an arrow from an Indian's bow we darted through them, tossed as on the ocean in a storm, and at noon landed at Montreal amid the ceaseless vociferations of French and Canadian draymen. For the Christian Journal. A Charge to the Clergy of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the State of Connecticut: Delivered at the Convention of the Church in said State, in St. John's Church, at Waterbury, on Wednesday, the 6th day of June, A. D. 1821. By Thomas Church Brownell, D. D. LL. D. Bishop of the Diocess of Connecticut. Published at the request of the Convention. pp. 23. Maltby & Co. New-Haven, 1821. THERE is no section of our Church on which we look with greater interest than on the diocess of Connecticut. Almost within the memory of persons now living, it contained not one organized congregation, and but a few scattered families of Episcopalians. For |