THE first person I met on walking a little distance from London, was a LADY elegantly dressed, who was almost afraid to let her feet touch the ground. Madam, said I, excuse me, if I ask, What employed your thoughts this morning, before you left home? Sir, said she, if I must tell you, I have been thinking a great deal about a foolish mantua-maker, who has completely spoiled my gown. But in the morning, should not some more important matter engage our attention? Such, for example, as the worth of the soul, the glory of God, the value of a Saviour, the morning of the resurrection, a judgment to come, &c.? This made her serious for a moment; but by forcing a little courage, she asked, with a sneer, if we were always to be thinking about

these things. In heaven, said I, they are always contemplating the things of God, and they are far from being unhappy. If we do not think always of them, we should certainly think sometimes, and no time more proper than in the morning, when we are entering upon a new day; it would prepare our minds for repelling the temptations and escaping the snares to which we may be exposed during the day; it might furnish suitable and useful matter for conversation with friends whom we may meet.

But, Sir, said she, I do not like to think of such things; and, if I did, I should not know what to think of them, for I know but little of them. I perceive, Madam, you stand in need of a new heart and a new spirit from God; without these, you cannot see the glories of the King, or the kingdom of God. Then, according to your account of me, I am blind. Yes, Madam, and would to God you knew it! Then would you come to Jesus in prayer, to open the eyes of your understanding, that you might behold the wondrous things contained in his law. After this, you would order the fashions and follies of this vain world to retire to the background; then you would be desirous to obtain wisdom from God, who has promised to bestow this blessing on them who seek it of him." Do you then consider me as a fool, Sir? I do not consider you us possessed of that true wisdom that cometh from above. Pray, Madam, did you ever laugh in the theatre, at their droll representations of drunkenness and debauchery? To be sure I have; and were the gravest philosopher there, he would laugh too. Well, Madam, by your own confession you make a jest of sin; and God pronounces all fools who do so. If you were present yourself, said she, be you who you may, my word for it, you would laugh as heartily as any person in the house. Lest I should do

so, I will not go; for I am taught to pray unto God, Lead me not into temptation; consequently, I must not rush into it myself. Likewise, when a person has frequently laughed at a vice, he will not afterwards hold it in great abhorrence. These theatrical representations ruin the morals of the age, and bring down judgments on the nation. Stop! stop! you are carrying the matter too far; for if you go on with that kind of reasoning, you will make us out to be a very wicked nation indeed! Yes, Madam, we are a sinful nation, a people laden with iniquity. Pray where have you come from this morning said the lady. I have come, Madam, from my closet, where I poured out my soul unto my God, beseeching him that he would enable me to do some good to-day in the world; and by this conversation I am desirous of doing good to you; and that you may be prevailed on to cease to do evil, and may learn to do well. Upon this, a young lady came frisking along, and calling out to the person with whom I was conversing, Oh, Madam, I am glad I have met you; the company are all waiting, and wondering what has detained you! On which the lady walked off to her company.

A NURSERYMAN was the next that attracted my attention. He was carrying a number of young trees under his arm. 1 asked where those trees grew. He told me, they had grown in his master's nursery. Is it not wonderful, said I, that such trees should grow at all! No, said he, our ground is remarkably good, and we give it plenty of manure. True, friend: but both the ground and the manure are dead; is it not therefore wonderful that they can send up such beautiful trees. bearing flowers and fruit? All good ground does that, said he. Very true; but supposing that not one tree or shrub, or any thing had risen out of the ground from

the beginning of the world till the present day, and that now, for the first time, we had observed all these things springing up from the earth, what should we have thought? Indeed, Sir, I cannot tell; perhaps we should have thought that there were a number of ingenious people under ground sending them up, and, probably, curiosity would have prompted us to have dug down and examined the cause. Then you will allow that some Being sends the plants up? Surely, Sir, and it must be God; for all the gardeners in the universe could not make a tulip. Well said, gardener, you are the wisest man I have met with to day.

Can you inform me, gardener, how many different kinds of flowers there are? No, I cannot, for they are innumerable; there is not a man alive, who has seen them all; and we are getting new flowers from abroad every year. Do you think that any gardener could invent a new flower, completely different from all that God has formed? No, I believe not; for variety is exhausted. But could not God produce in a moment as great a variety as he has done already, perfectly different from all which at present exist? No doubt he could; for no bounds can be set to infinite wisdom and power. He could create a thousand worlds in the twinkling of an eye, as large as this one, and not two of them in the least resembling each other. Did you ever reflect, gardener, that it requires the same power to destroy a world, that was requisite to produce it; No, I do not think I ever did; but I perceive it must be so; for though all the men in the world were to set about destroying it, they could only dig a few holes in it, which would soon be filled with water, and then they must give over digging. But he who said, 'Let there be light, and there was light,' could have said again, Let there be no light, and there would have been nothing

but darkness. Do you think that God alone can change the heart? Here he said, emphatically, I am sure none else can, for I have often attempted but in vain, to change my heart; nor can any man do it for me, but I went to God, and the old heart melted down before him, and he gave me a heart to fear and love him. Thus, I found the gardener a much wiser man than at the beginning of the conversation I expected to find him.

A man near me was telling another that he was a MOLE-CATCHER. Turning about to him, I said, Friend, you will be able to tell me whether it be a true report that I have heard of the mole, that it hath no eyes. Oh, said he, that is all false; their eyes are small, but they can see as well as you or 1; indeed, I sometimes think they both see and hear too well, for I find it very difficult to get hold of them.

The Bible declares that all men are born blind; do you consider that a true report? Not I said he, it is almost the reverse; for there are very few born blind. Do you not think that some men are blind to their own interest? Yes, said he, many, and I am one myself; for had I taken my father's advice, and gone to the business which he recommended, I might have been riding to-day in my carriage. Well that is a proof of blindness as it respects the things of this life; but do you not think that all men are by nature blind to the importance and glory of the things of God; blind to the worth of the soul, the beauty of holiness, and necessity of a Redeemer? Did you ever know one who naturally preferred these things to the vanities of this world? Such a one, said he, would be fit to be placed in a museum of curiosities. Take care, then friend, that you be not more blind than the mole, to your own immortal interests. Looking to his companion, he said,