combined. The prayers which he used in the family were either those of our Church, or compilations from the different services of it, or compositions of our best divines; and they were uttered by him with so much unfeigned devotion, that it was impossible to hear them often without being affected by them. I had, in fact, become in love with religion before I knew what it was, for although my mind had not been indurated by the maxims of infidel philosophy, I had never seriously considered the subject of revelation. Theophilus remarked with pleasure the traces of this alteration, he improved the opportunity afforded him by it, of introducing moral and religious topics of conversation, to which, in the first days of our renewed acquaintance, I should have paid little attention; and he led me insensibly to the perusal of books calculated to enlighten my understanding, and awaken and alarm my apprehensions. Sometimes he would descant on the frivolous or vicious pursuits of the times, expatiate on the misery occasioned by them to individuals, families, and the nation; or contrast the turbulence and anxiety of a life of dissipation with the solid composure of a religious mind, and the dying despair or insensibility of the impenitent sinner, with the serene confidence of the true believer. All this was done with so much judgment, that I felt its effect without perceiving the object of it. To shorten the narrative, I had passed a month with him, when one evening after he had read a discourse to his family, which furnished the subject of our subsequent conversation, he addressed me with an awful affecting seriousness, and in terms which I shall never forget. "I love you, Edward, (said he), and I mean to give you a solid proof of my affection. Our friendship began in youth, and was founded on a similarity of dispositions, which led us to the same occupations and amusements. Let the friendship of our declining years be cemented by the rational desire of promoting the eternal welfare of each other. I now look back to the time when we passed our mornings and evenings together, in follies and pleasures, as a period of delirium; and whilst I tremble at the recollection of the dangers in which we were plunged by it, I adore with unspeakable gratitude the mercy which rescued me from it. To you I am bound to make this confession as an atonement for my criminality, in encouraging by my example and participation the thoughtless dissipation of your younger years. Ignorant of your situation abroad, and unapprised even whether you were living or dead, what pain have I not felt from the recollection of that period, and often have I raised my voice in prayer for you to the God of mercy, that he would look down upon you with compassion, and recal you from the dangerous courses in which you began the career of life. Most de voutly do I thank him; that he has afforded me an opportunity of telling you this myself; most devoutly do implore him, that under his good providence I may be the means of rescuing my friend from the misery and destruction of sin. Eighteen years, the third part of our lives, have e lapsed in absence from each other; they have passed like a dream, and the remainder of our allotted existence, be it more or less, will soon vanish in the same manner, and the question, which we cannot evade, will then be asked, how we have passed our lives? Have we lived to the glory of God or to ourselves? What an alarming question to beings, who are created for an eternity of happiness or misery, deriving from nature a propensity to evil and aversion from good, with an incapacity in themselves to will or to do any thing pleas ing to God. But the gracious father of mankind has not placed his children in a state of remediless misery, he has not imposed obligations upon them which cannot be discharged; and though we cannot save ourselves, he has provided a salvation for us. Peruse the volume of eternal life, which has been given for our information; there the mystery of the redemption of man, which human imazination could never have conceived, is plainly revealed. Ruined by sin, man must have perished for ever, if the Son of God had not descended from heaven and made atonement for the sins of the world. He has borne the burthen of our iniquities, and the gates of immortality are no longer barred against us. Through faith in him we have access to the mansions of heavenly bliss, for he is the way, and the truth, and the life. But we can not enter them with the pollutions of carnal desires and appetites, with earthly passions and affections; our desires must first be spiritualized, our affections sanctified, our nature must undergo a purification, we must be come new creatures before we are meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light; for this purpose a sanctifier is no less offered to man than a Redeemer, who sheds his purifying influence upon those who devoutly implore it, in the name of Jesus. Thus redeemed and sanctified what a scene of glory opens to our view. The earth, with all its thrones and potentates, their dignities and splendours, fale before it like the shadows of the night before the rising sun. But it is a theme too vast for mortal tongue, a vision too bright for human eyes." Here Theophilus paused for a few moments, absorbed in contemplation of the divine wisdom and benevolence displayed in the redemption of man, "Such (continuing his discourse) is the glorious hope which God in Christ has revealed to us; it is no fiction of the imagination, but rests upon the immutable promise of the eternal word, by whom the world was made. He calls upon all men to accept it, and prescribes the indispensable conditions of repentance and faith. Believe and be saved; but faith, let it be remembered must ever be shewn in love to him evinced by obedience to his commandments; that love which will make the duty of obedience easy and pleasant. "But the same Jesus has also declared this alarming truth, that there is a state of endless misery for those who reject the gracious offers of God through him; who refuse to believe in their Saviour. Strive, my dear Edward, to escape it, whilst yet the hour of grace is given to you. The first step towards religion is a deep humiliating conviction that you are a sinner, and as such, an offence to a holy God, whose eyes are purer than to behold iniquity; this will lead you to the consideration how you are to escape his wrath, and to the interposing mercy of Christ. May the divine grace impress this conviction deeply on your heart; implore it in the name of Jesus; put up your petitions also for understanding to comprehend the great mystery of redemption through a cru cified Saviour, for repentance and faith; and I will offer up mine that the holy spirit may pour down upon you his illumination, and by his sanctifying influence renew you in that righteousness and holiness without which no man shall see the Lord." The tears fell from his eyes as he concluded, and mine had bedewed my cheeks whilst he was speaking. He strained me to his bosom with an affectionate embrace, and we sepa rated for the night. I was too much affected by his discourse to enjoy much repose, and although my mind was in some degree prepared for its impression, it excited a variety of ideas which I had never before, or imperfectly, entertained. "If this be true, in what condition am I? Have I not lived without God in the world? a mere conformist to the practice of religion, without any knowledge of its spirit? What would become of my soul, if God this night should require it of me?" Such amongst many others were the reflec tions which occurred to me. I felt a desire to pray, as well as the necessity of prayer, but I could scarcely utter more than repeated ejaculations. In the morning, though dejected, I was somewhat more composed, and I then confessed my sins to God, and implored his pardon in the name of Christ, with a devotion which I had never before felt. I made no hesitation in communicating all my emotions to Theophilus; he rejoiced to perceive them, and whilst he endeavoured to relieve my mind from despondency, earnestly inculcated the duty of benefiting by the grace of God, which through his means had been offered to me, as well as the danger of rejecting it. You will anticipate the conclusion of my narrative: my invaluable friend, who, by the blessing of God, sowed the seed of the word in my heart, never ceased to water it and promote its growth. We daily read the scriptures together, he shewed me the connection between the Old and New Testament, pointed out the most remarkable prophecies which had been completed, particularly those relating to the Messiah; explained difficult passages, and noticed others as affording important subjects for meditation, and he read the sublime strains of devotion in the scriptures with a rapturous animation that seemed almost inspired. How different do I now appear to myself from what I was when I entered the house of Theophilus. I look back with horror to many scenes of my life, which I used to retrace with complacency; and I feel more satisfaction from this contrition than I ever derived from that dissipation in which I formerly thought myself happy. Under a deep and humiliating sense of the iniquities of my past life, I take a delight in spiritual meditations, which, six months ago, I was incapable of conceiving. I look with trembling hope for pardon and redemption, through the atonement of a crucified Saviour; and whilst, in humble dependance on the assistance of divine grace, I endeavour to work out my salvation with fear and trembling, I feel a joy and peace in believing, unknown before. Such, Sir, is my present state, for which, by the blessing of God, I am indebted to Theophilus. This narrative, if it have no other effect, will exemplify the great importance of a conformity between external manners and internal rectitude. If, instead of appearing to me as he did, I had found my friend reserved, formal, and precise; if he had not won my esteem by the kindness and urbanity of his deportment; in short, if chris tianity in him had not appeared as amiable as his profession of it was sincere, though I might have respected his virtues, if I could have discovered them, I should, probably, have left his house after a few days residence in it with the same mind with which I entered it. But I would not be understood, by any thing I have said, to depreciate from the worth of those plain, simple, unpolished chaFacters, who bear the rich jewels of christian faith and love in an unseemly casket. The religion of Christ is, doubtless, made for the poor and uneducated, as well as for the rich and polite. Its proper effect, however, in all is to produce that genuine politeness of manner which consists in affability, kindness, courtesy, and condescension; and although many are debarred from acquiring the easy and graceful manners, and the external polish of Theophilus, yet the christian humility and the christian love, which give to these their intrinsic value, are equally attainable by all who are truly religious, and ought to be uniformly exhibited in their conduct and conversation. This last week has placed Theophilus in a new point of view. He has been confined to his room, for the first time of his life, with a most painful disorder, which scarcely alfows him sleep or repose. But his temper has suffered no alteration ; placid, patient, and submissive, he bears the severity of disease without a murmur, and leaves the event to him with whom are the issues of life and death. There are intervals in which the fervour of devotion suspends the intensity of pain; and when he expatiates on the ineffable love and niercy of God, as revealed in Jesus, the animation of his countenance bespeaks not only gratitude but all the joy of hope. You will ask, Sir, what are my. feelings on this trying occasion: I know not how to describe the mixed sensations of grief, anxiety, admiration, fear, and affection; they are best expressed by my fervent prayers to God for his recovery. The crowd of anxious enquirers, which surrounds his house, shews how extensively he is beloved; and returning yesterday from the Church, the humid eyes, desponding faces, and unsuppressed sighs of his friends and neighbours, who explored my looks with penetrating anxiety, affected my heart in a manner which I cannot describe. He is now somewhat recovered, and we have a fair prospect of his restoration to health. I tremble, however, whilst I write; but would say, Thy will, O God, be done. ASIATICUS. To the Editor of the Christian Observer. IRRELIGIOUs people, as it appears to me, are apt to make a demand upon the religious, for certain agreeable qualities, which they have no right to expect. Religion, for example, will not communicate good taste to the vulgar, learning to the illiterate, or strong sense to men of a weak capacity; neither will it impart neatness to the sloven, nor give graceful manners to him who is naturally awkward in his gait. If, nevertheless, a pious man should happen to be particularly wanting in any of these qualities, it is well if his religion, because it fails to cure the evil, is not represented as being in part at least the very cause of it. Well, I never can believe that religion consists in being so slovenly as Mr. is a sarcasm which I once heard a lady utter against a very worthy man, whose coat I must admit was not at that time sufficiently brushed. In vain was it replied that it was the province of christianity, not so much to remove the powder from the cape, or to perfect the exterior of the man, though it might a little contribute to these objects, as to purify the heart. The opinion of this lady seemed to be, that religion, if it did any thing, ought to do every thing, and especially that it ought not to leave unreformed so important an article as that of dress. In further illustration of the general remark with which I set out, I beg to present you with the two following letters; the first is from a gay young man to a religious friend; the second is the answer to it. DEAR SIR, most particularly dislike a number of those religious friends, and associates of yours, to whom you have done me the honour to introduce me. They are so grave and formal, so dull and stupid, and so uncomfortably strict and severe, in short, so unlike the people with whom I am used to live, that you must not entertain the least hope of making me one of your party. They may be good kind of people in their way, but their manners and mine are so extremely dif ferent, that we are very bad company for each other. Indeed some of them appear almost as desirous to avoid me as I am to take my leave of them. In short, let me have as much of your society and as little of theirs as you please. You and I may also as well agree to be silent on one subject, and then we shall be the more merry and communicative on every other. Such, at least, is the intention of your very sincere friend, MY DEAR FRIEND, LOTHARIO. Do not be surprised when I say, that I cordially thank you for your letter. I love the frankness of it. You gay and giddy people are for the most part invincibly silent, when any thing of a religious kind is said to you; and this silence is ten times more ominous than even the fiercest contradiction. I am not at all dispos-' ed at this moment to urge upon you Imy doctrines," as you call them. I have wished, it is true, to recommend them by exhibiting to you the practice of those who entertain them. It seems, however, that you find my religious friends, to the brightness of whose virtues I was disposed to make my appeal; to be "grave and formal," to be "dull and stupid," and to be also " uncomfortably strict and se I return you my best thanks for your obliging endeavours to do me good, but to tell you the truth I have no great wish to become one of your converts. As to your doctrines I really do not well understand them, but as far as I do they seem to me to be very uncomfortable. I love to look at the bright side of things, and detest, above all the sins in the world, the sin of being melancholy." Let's be merry while we may," is the motto to my escutcheon. What I therefore most dislike in you religious people is, your terrible gravity and dullness. On yourself, indeed, my dear Sir, I mean to make no reflection. I know you to be a man of sense, and, though You will remember, however, that you may have some particularities, I I never described these friends as can pardon these for the sake of some men of wit; I only promised that fine natural qualities, which all your you would find them to be good men, religion has not been able to drive who would prove the excellency of away. You are frank and good hu- their principles and the sincerity of moured, and though so wonderfully their religious professions by their devout you have also a vein of cheer-practice; and who would have a fulness which is delightful to me. But claim to your respect and be fit obdo not try me too far by your religi- jects of imitation. You say they are ous correspondence. I have resolved dull: I grant they may be a little less to tell you plainly, that I am not lively than a set of acquaintance who altogether pleased with this part of should be selected merely on the your communications; and also that I ground of liveliness. You love men vere." of wit and merriment, no matter if a have no reason to thank you for any little immoral and profane-I, men of extraordinary civility. It is true, that morality and religion. You chuse you published my letter; but as to your associates from among the one your opinion, which I solicited reclass-I, mine from among the other; specting the parson, you did not think and then you complain that my pious fit to say a word. Two of your corfriends are intolerable, because they respondents, indeed, speedily gave are not exactly as merry as all the me theirs; a favour for which I take giddy men whom you have gathered this opportunity of thanking them. together. My friends, however, Their opinions seemed, in many reknow how to be cheerful as well as spects, opposite; and that of the your's, though they may not conse- writer, who signed himself Fanaticrate as large a portion of their lives cus, I did not very well understand. to laughter; and there are among But the gentlemen were both of them them men of various and superior en- perfectly right; both shewed themdowments. In truth, my dear Sir, selves thoroughly aware that this cler we are not sent into the world in or- gyman was, with all his pretences to der to be quite so merry as you seem piety, a very worthless fellow. Yes, to think we ought to be. There is a yes, Sir, the mask has dropped off. medium in this respect which religion Excuse me if I use warm language. teaches. A Christian belongs to the I cannot think of him with patience. sect neither of the laughing nor of the Sir, there are occasions when it would weeping philosopher. He judges of disgrace a man not to be out of temthe world as it is, as a mixed scene per; and this is one of them. I have in which there is much to lament, too much spirit, too much proper much to rejoice in, and much to be pride, not to feel as warm as I ought thankful for. Let me remark to you, to feel. If you wish to know what that true happiness arises rather from he has done, I will tell you plainly: a calm contentedness of mind than he preaches at people. I could give from incessant sallies of joy. Where you twenty proofs. What else could there is too much laughter there is he mean by his infamous sermon about apt to be some folly; folly is but Nimrod? But I had better tell you another name for sin, and sin, as you first how the matter was; and I will know, in the end leads on to sor- endeavour to be as calm as I can. row. Think, therefore, a little seriously before you resolve to avoid all the acquaintance that I introduced to you. Perhaps you have seen them to disadvantage. Possibly some of them may have put on a more than usual gravity with a view of correcting your levity. Suspect the fault to be in yourself. Above all, let me beseech you not to execute the threat expressed in the last lines of your letter, I mean that of closing our communications on religious subjects. So long as you abuse me and my friends, I shall have some hope of you; but as soon as you turn silent I shall be tempted to bid you farewell. My dear Sir, truly your's, You must know, then, that though I never have become intimate with the rector, a circumstance the blame of which lies wholly at his door, as he has persisted in having nothing to do with the occupations in which alone he very well knew that acquaintance with me was to be cultivated, yet I have always been upon perfectly civil terms with him; and, in truth, though in neglecting to obtain my friendship by partaking in my diversions, he has grossly failed in his duty to me as one of his parishioners, he has treated me, whenever we have met at home or abroad, with apparent respect and cordiality; a proceeding which aggravates the iniquity of his conduct to me in the Church. Partly from an idea that he probably took the liberty of secretly disapproving some things in my way of spending my time, and partly from certain expressions and sentiments which I I AM the country gentleman that ad- heard in some of his sermons; I had dressed you some time since for respecting the new rector of my parish. I AGATHOCLES. To the Editor of the Christian Observer, * Vol. I. p. 784. a considerable period entertained a lurking suspicion that he had myself in his eye during his preaching. Önce or twice he had preached about the |