I have sometimes known the ardour of devotional feeling cool as soon as the fire of persecution has been extinguished; and the heroic fortitude, which the storm has been unable to subdue, has gradually relaxed under the soft influence of prosperous ease. The mind, almost instinctively, accommodates itself to its circumstances; and though it rises in stern defiance against the lawless threats of injustice and oppression, it too often sinks into a state of comparative apathy when opposition ceases. It is at such a period that religious principles are in danger. Courtesy will often prompt to a sacrifice which compulsion could never obtain; a smile will sometimes conquer where a frown would fortify to resistance; and the faith which has stood immovable amidst the virulence of reproach and sarcasm, has sometimes wavered under the entreaties of parental kindness, and the tender solicitations of endeared friends.

But such was the ascendency which Divine truth had acquired over the mind of Miss Roscoe, and such the decision of her character, that no external change impaired the strength, or shook the firmness of her religious principles. She was not less spiritually minded under the sunbeams of prosperity than when adversity lowered; her affection for her parents did not diminish her superior regard to her Redeemer; and though she now felt still stronger obligations to please them, yet she regulated the whole of her conduct by the sacred maxim—"Them that honour me, I will honour, saith the Lord."

It was after her return from the cottage of a poor neighbour, where she had been administering the consolations of religion to a young woman about her own age, who was then in the last stage of consumption, that she sat herself down on a sofa, in perfect abstraction, unconscious of the presence of her father, who had just entered the parlour. For some time he felt unwilling to disturb her, but at length he broke in upon her musings, by asking if she felt indisposed?

"Oh, no, papa, I am not indisposed; I never enjoyed a finer state of health, or greater elevation of feeling than I do at this moment. I have been spending an hour with Jane Thomason, whose happy spirit is on the eve of departing from this vale of tears. It is beside the bed of the dying that I feel the degradation and the grandeur of my nature. There I see what sin has done to disfigure and destroy the body; and there I see what the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ does to adorn and dignify the soul."

"Yes, my dear, death is a debt which we must all pay; and I hope we shall be able to pay it with submission when nature demands it. But I wish you not to suffer yourself to be too much absorbed by this subject, as it will depress your spirits. I have long known Jane; she was always a virtuous girl, and I doubt not but she has made her peace with her Maker."

"Depress me, father!—No; such a theme of meditation possesses no depressing tendency. It is true, a momentary tremor will come over my spirit when I think of the parting scene and the unknown pang of dying, but it is only a momentary tremor—a passing tribute to the value of that life which I would spontaneously resign for a more perfect state of existence, if my heavenly Father required me to do it."

"But if you incessantly dwell on a future state of existence, I fear you will neither improve nor enjoy the present. The present has its duties, which we ought to discharge, and its pleasures, which we ought to enjoy; and, while we may derive some consolation from the prospect of a future life, I think we ought not to undervalue the present."

"To undervalue the present life, my father, would be an insult to Him who gave it; and to neglect its duties, would be to incur his righteous displeasure; but when we feel the renovating influence of Divine grace infusing the principle of spiritual life into the soul, it will be impossible for us to wish for its endless duration. I have just been reading a discourse, which says, 'The soul no sooner receives this new life, than it begins to be filled with hopes and fears, desires and dispositions, to which, in its fallen state, it is an entire stranger. It becomes concerned about its own safety, and conscious of its own dignity. The things of eternity arrest its attention, and call all its powers into exercise. It thinks, and feels, and acts, as though it regarded itself born for an immortal existence—as though it looked on heaven as its home, and never could be satisfied or happy till it should be engaged in its services and sharing in its joys.'"

"Well, my dear, I hope, when our earthly pilgrimage is ended, that we shall meet in heaven; but I must confess that I do not feel that glow of animation in the prospect of it which you feel. In looking over the letter I received from you the other day, I was surprised to find that we differ so little in our religious belief; and yet, when we converse together, a stranger would imagine that we are at the distance of the antipodes from each other. We admit the same truths in theory, but you appear to discover an importance and an excellence in them which I cannot feel or perceive. They are invested with a charm in your mind to which I am altogether insensible. Indeed, there is a mysteriousness connected with their operation on you which I cannot comprehend. Can you explain it?"

"Our Lord," said Miss Roscoe, "when conversing with his disciples, who had proposed to him this question, 'Why speakest thou unto them in parables?' answered, 'It is given unto you to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it is not given.' It is evident, from this passage, that the truth which is revealed, requires some supernatural illumination to enable us to understand it; and if you search the Scriptures attentively, you will perceive that this fact is asserted in the most positive and direct terms. 'The natural man' saith the apostle, 'receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness unto him; neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned.'"

"But are we to expect that this supernatural illumination, of which you speak, will convey to us any truth which is not already revealed? If so, the revelation is imperfect, and if not, it strikes me that a supernatural illumination is unnecessary."

"There will be no fresh truth communicated; but without this Divine illumination we shall not discern the importance and excellence of that which is revealed. Hence we read of having the eyes of our understanding enlightened. The psalmist prays thus: 'Open thou mine eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of thy law!' And the historian who records the conversion of Lydia, when assigning the cause of it, says, 'Whose heart the Lord opened, that she attended unto the things which were spoken of Paul.'"

"But as we are endowed with an understanding which is capable of discriminating between truth and error, I cannot perceive the necessity of any supernatural assistance. I believe that we are sinners, and I believe that Jesus Christ died for sinners. I do not want any supernatural illumination to confirm my belief of these facts."

"But you want supernatural assistance to invest your belief with power to impress them on your heart. You may believe that you are a sinner, and yet you may not see the malignancy of sin, nor yet feel that deep, poignant sorrow which the Scriptures call repentance. You may believe that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, and yet may not perceive how his death accomplishes this great design."

"But I fear, my dear Sophia, you are now soaring into the region of mysticism, and are in danger of paying more attention to the visions of your fancy than to the convictions of your understanding."

"No; a mystical theology is not only inexplicable, but it cannot be defended by sober and rational argument. Am I offering an insult to my reason when I beseech the Father of light to illumine my understanding, and thus enable me to perceive, not only the meaning, but the beauty and excellence of the truth which he has revealed? And considering the volatility of the mind, how much it is under the control and dominion of the passions, how rarely it can abstract itself from sensible objects and pursuits, and what uniform indifference it manifests to the great questions of personal piety, shall I be considered as acting irrationally, if I pray that I may be deeply and permanently affected by the truth which I believe? O, my father! I can attest from experience that this supernatural illumination of the mind is the great secret in personal religion. Without it we are in darkness, while encompassed by the light of revelation; may admit the inspiration of the Bible, while the veil of mystery hangs over its sacred pages; may condemn, as Puritanical or Methodistical, the very principles we theoretically acknowledge to be divine; and, amidst all our professions of reverence for the character of God, and love to the person of the Redeemer, may be destitute of that mental peace which arises from a scriptural belief of the truth."

The conversation now turned on the right which every person possesses to form his own opinion on religious truth.

"I have been an enemy to free inquiry," said Mr. Roscoe, "but on maturer reflection I must give up my opposition. Where this liberty is enjoyed there will be great diversity of opinion, but probably that will prove less injurious to the practical influence of religion than a perfect uniformity, which admits of no discussion. When you and I thought alike on religious questions, my mind was in a stagnant state; I very rarely thought much or deeply on the subject; but since you have imbibed your present views my feelings have been agitated; I have been obliged to re-examine the evidences of my belief also; and though I cannot agree with you on all points, yet I begin to see that my knowledge is defective."

"Persecution," Miss Roscoe remarked, "on account of religious opinions is a cruel crime, and though the apologist has often attempted to palliate it, and sometimes to justify it, yet it is nothing less than an outrage on the inalienable rights of man. Who can compel me to believe any system of opinions? The effort, if made, would be fruitless, because physical force cannot subdue the understanding; and if I do believe any system of opinions, who can compel me to disbelieve? Have I not the same right to exercise my judgment in the adoption of my belief as another person, and ought I to be disturbed, especially in this land of freedom, if I claim and exercise this right?"

"I think not, though our prejudices are so very much in favour of old established doctrines and customs, that we almost necessarily feel impelled to interfere and prevent a person, if possible, abandoning them. A parent, who is a member of the Establishment, does not like to see his child deserting it, and though a severe critic may attribute this to the force of prejudice, yet I am not surprised that it should assume a powerful influence over the feelings. The religious belief in which we have been educated, whose rites, and forms, and ceremonies are associated with our earliest recollections, at whose hallowed altars we have formed the most sacred of all human alliances, and in whose consecrated earth the remains of our ancestors are deposited, may be supposed to enkindle, even in the breast of age, the fire of a youthful attachment; and it must occasion deep regret to see it forsaken as the child of superstition or the parent of error."

"I assure you I have no inclination to leave the Establishment, though, I presume, you will admit that I have a right to do it if I should think proper."

"Your right is admitted, for I am convinced that we ought not to attempt to control the judgment of another; but I sincerely hope that you will never think proper to exercise your right."

"It is not likely that I shall. I am under no temptation to do so. I admire the liturgy of our church, I approve of her articles; and though there are imperfections, which a scrutinizing eye may discover, in her constitution and in some of her ceremonies, yet I believe that she is as pure as any church of modern times."

"I am happy that your evangelical views of truth have not destroyed your veneration and esteem for the Establishment, as it would be a source of great mortification to us if you were to become a Dissenter."

"I am not acquainted with any Dissenter, except Mr. Lewellin, whom I have occasionally met at Mr. Stevens's, but our attention has been so fully engaged by the great and important truths of revelation, that I have never heard the question of dissent discussed. As Christians of every denomination will meet together in heaven, and unite in one common anthem of praise, I think they ought to cherish the kindest affection for each other; and, instead of suffering the minor questions of difference, which give a distinctive shade to their religious character, to keep them in a state of reciprocal alienation, they ought to 'dwell together as brethren.'"

"But, my dear, I am no advocate for an indiscriminate association of religious people. 'Evil communications corrupt good manners.' Your attachment for the church may be weakened if you hold intercourse with those who dissent from it. There are, I have no doubt, some wise and good men among the Dissenters; but, as there is a larger number of that description among us, I think you will have no occasion to wander out of the pale of the church for society."

"It is not, I assure you, my intention to form a large circle of acquaintance; but I must confess that my mind is too deeply imbued with the catholic spirit of the gospel, to keep up the separation which divides those who are united together by ties more sacred and durable than those of nature or common friendship. The ardour of my feelings may impel me to become zealous in the cause of vital godliness, but I feel such an aversion to bigotry, that I do not think that I shall ever become a bigot. To me the questions of conformity and non-conformity, of church and dissent, are so insignificant and worthless, when put into comparison with the vital Christianity of the Bible, that I dismiss them from my mind. No, my dear father, I value, more than I value life, the truth which bears the stamp of Divine authority, and care but little for the opinions which are alternately admitted and rejected by human authority."

Mrs. Roscoe now entered the parlour; and, after taking her seat, she expressed the pleasure which she had felt on reading her daughter's letter; and said she hoped, though they differed on religious subjects, that in future they should live together in peace. She assured Miss Roscoe that the trifling opposition they had raised against her was not intended to wound her feelings; and, as they were now satisfied of the goodness of her motives, though they still felt a little regret at the eccentricity of her habits, they should leave her to pursue the course which her own good sense was competent to mark out. "We hope you will not object to accompany us when we visit our friends?"

"Certainly not, mamma, unless it be to a ball or card party. My religious principles have not alienated me from the pleasures of social life, though they have given me a distaste for fashionable amusements."

"Your secession from the fashionable circle," said Mrs. Roscoe, "has excited both astonishment and regret; and many of your best friends very much pity you."

"Their astonishment, mamma, does not surprise me; and though I accept of the expressions of their regret as a proof of their friendship, yet if they knew the cause and the reasons, they would be more disposed to offer me their congratulations. I have exchanged one source of gratification for another; and can attest, from experience, as I have tried both, that my present is more pure and more satisfactory than the former."

"Really, my dear, I often wonder what you can see in religion to be so captivated by it?"

"If, mamma, my mind had not been illuminated by a heavenly light, I should have seen no attractions in it. I once saw none; and if I had been told a few years since that I should live to renounce the gaieties of the world, and embrace the calumniated doctrines of evangelical piety, I should have trembled in prospect of the issue."

"And I assure you that I even now tremble for the issue. I fear that you will have your mind so bewildered with your religious notions, that its energy will be destroyed, and its peace entirely broken up."

"You need not, my dear mamma, give yourself any uneasiness on that subject. I am happy, more happy than at any former period of my life; and I have a prospect of future happiness before me. What more can I desire? I have gained the prize for which all are contending; and though it has been found within the sacred inclosures of religion, where I never expected to find it, yet ought I to cast it from me?"

"Well, my dear Sophia, if you are happy, I will not attempt to disturb your happiness."

"No," said Mr. Roscoe; "nor shall others. If it has pleased God to give you a portion of heavenly light, which he has withheld from us, we will not try to extinguish it. I deeply regret that I ever reproached you for your religion, or opposed you, for I am now convinced that the spirit which originates such measures must be evil. A remark which I met with in a discourse recently published by a clergyman, has made a deep impression on my mind. He says, when illustrating the following sentence—'Behold, the devil shall cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried'—'It might often serve to stay the hand of persecution in religion, to consider who, in fact, sharpens the axe of the executioner, lights the fires of cruelty, or kindles the still fiercer flames of bigotry and theological hatred in the soul. It is his work who is 'the father of lies;' and therefore the natural enemy of the truth is the author of every plot for its destruction. Consider, therefore, if you discover even a spark of intolerance and harshness in your own heart, in what flame that spark is kindled, and make haste to extinguish it in the waters of love.' When opposing you, my dear Sophia, I thought I was merely opposing a modern fanaticism; but it is possible that I have, through ignorance, been opposing the progress of genuine piety. Ignorance may palliate, but cannot excuse crime; and I now resolve to let you enjoy unmolested the liberty of thinking and deciding for yourself on the great question of religion; and my daily prayer is, that God will be as merciful and gracious to us, as he has been to you."

Miss Roscoe replied, after she had recovered herself from that overflow of feeling which such noble sentiments had excited, "I thank you, I thank you, my dear father, for your kindness. You have given me many proofs of your attachment, but this last I receive as the strongest, because I value it as the most sacred. It is to the influence of others that I always attributed the opposition which I have met with; and, as I felt conscious that it would die away upon cool reflection, I endured it as a temporary evil, which would become productive of a permanent good. Had I met with no opposition, I should not have enjoyed so much my present liberty; and I trust that the veil of oblivion will now fall on the past, while a brighter vision rises on our fancy as we look forward to future days."

How many have pined away in the dungeon, or expired at the stake, under the relentless demon of persecution! and though the shield of the civil law now protects Britons from the tortures which the pious of former ages had to endure, yet the evil spirit still exists, and often displays, even in this land of freedom, its unsubdued enmity against the pure religion of Jesus Christ. It cannot imprison, but it can reproach; it cannot consume by an instantaneous death, but it can break down and destroy the vivacity of the mind by the lingering process of daily sarcasm and misrepresentation; yet, let not the sufferer compromise his principles, but remain faithful, even unto death. The angel of the Apocalypse, when assigning the reason why some of the brethren of Smyrna should be cast into prison, left on record the design which God has in view by permitting you to be afflicted. "He (i.e., the devil) shall cast some of you into prison that ye may be tried."—"Here, then," to quote the language of an elegant writer, "if you are the children of God, is the real end and object of your trials. They are permitted, not in anger, but in love; not to destroy, but to sanctify; to prove your sincerity, to try your patience, to ascertain your deficiencies, quicken your zeal, and stimulate you to confidence, and trust, and prayer, and love to Him who is 'able to save to the uttermost all that come to him.' It is thus that our heavenly Father frustrates the devices of the devil. The very fires lighted by the enemy of saints, serve only to cherish the graces of the true Christian, to melt down the irregularities of temper, to burn in and fix all those qualities which were, perhaps, hitherto sketched but in light and fading colours on the character. The spirit of persecution may rage against you, but its duration is fixed. 'Ye shall have tribulation ten days:' and as He, 'whose you are, and whom you serve,' has limited its duration, so he can abate its violence; and, when his gracious designs are accomplished, he will deliver you from its power. The religion of Jesus Christ has often been despised and rejected, even by those who are her ministers; and sometimes she has been bound in chains by the kings of the earth, as though she were the destroyer of human happiness; but she has, in this country, broken asunder the bands of her captivity, and is enjoying unrestricted liberty. 'May her sceptre sway the enlightened world around.' 'Then shall the earth yield her increase; and God, even our own God, shall bless us, God shall bless us; and all the ends of the earth shall fear him.'"

SELF-DELUSION.

"These observations," said Mr. Stevens, "are quite correct; yet how few wish to live their life over again. Some, who have no hope of a blissful immortality, would not object to a second birth and to a second childhood; but in general they would prefer some other course of life than that which they have run, under a supposition that they should be able to avoid the evils by which they have been oppressed, and gain the prize of mental happiness, which they have never obtained."

"But the reluctance which we may feel to go back to infancy, and live through our past life is, in my opinion, no substantial argument against a preponderance of happiness in the world. If we prefer another course to that which we have run, it is because we calculate on a fewer number of evils, and a greater portion of enjoyment; but who would not willingly endure all the miseries which he has suffered, with the comforts with which he has been favoured, rather than die and enter the invisible world, where he knows not what destiny awaits him?"

"If we know not what destiny awaits us in the eternal world, we ought to prefer the endless continuance of life, even when associated with the severest afflictions, rather than wish for its termination; because here the most violent pulsations of anguish admit of some intermitting seasons of ease; but there, if we miss the prize, we shall be cast out into outer darkness, where will be weeping and gnashing of teeth, and for ever."

"This subject," said Mr. Roscoe, "at times almost overwhelms me; and like Job, when in his anguish, I am inclined to say, 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, there is a man-child conceived.' But this is useless. I am in being, and can't go out of existence. I may pass from one world to another, and sometimes wish to pass the line which separates the unseen from the visible world, that I may know the final issue; but this is not a permanent desire. No! the final issue of life is invested with such solemn and awful grandeur, so much personal and relative happiness or misery is dependent on it, that I feel either instinctively or morally afraid to anticipate it. Indeed, I should be a more happy man if I could disbelieve the immortality of the soul. Yes, I should. I could enjoy life; and though I might feel some occasional regret in prospect of ceasing to exist, yet then I should escape the awful sense of horror which sometimes fills my mind in the fearful apprehensions of future degradation and misery."

"I have thought," said Mr. Stevens, "from our former conversations, that you had no doubt of a state of future happiness."

"Very true, I once had no doubt, but then I never thought deeply on the subject. I felt confident that I should enter heaven, and participate in the joys of the blessed, immediately after my decease; but then I was under the power of that self-delusion which you so often entreated me to guard against. I sometimes felt a momentary elation in anticipation of seeing the beauty and grandeur of the heavenly world; but when I began to examine the foundation of my confidence, I found it giving way. I thought that the Supreme Being could not, consistently with his benevolence, inflict punishment in another world for the sins committed in this; and that the conscientious discharge of our relative duties towards each other, constituted the whole extent of our obligations to him. Hence I necessarily expected a state of future happiness; but, by a closer examination of the Scriptures, I am convinced that he has appointed a day in which the administration of justice will be conducted impartially; when the motives of human action, as well as the actions of human life, will undergo a strict investigation, and we shall be rewarded or punished according as we have done good or evil."

"This is a very important discovery, and may be regarded as the beginning of a great change in your religious opinions—a change which may lead to the most happy results."

"But can such a discovery, which has plunged me into an abyss of terrific horror, ever lead to any favourable issue?"

"Yes, Sir, it can. It is the discovery of our guilt and our danger that predisposes and impels us to receive the Christian faith as exactly adapted to our moral condition. Until this discovery is made, the scheme of salvation which is revealed in the Bible may be contemplated as true, without being felt as necessary; and the mind, perplexed and bewildered by the speculative doctrines of its own belief, may admit them in theory, and yet reject their practical application. But when we feel our guilt, and perceive the moral danger to which it inevitably exposes us, we necessarily ask the question which the jailer of Philippi once put to the apostle, 'What must I do to be saved?' Will a person ever put such a question till he feels that he is in danger of being lost?"

"Certainly not; but when he does feel that danger, the question becomes not only proper, but one of paramount importance. And what MUST we do?"

"As you have admitted the importance of the question, I at once reply to it, and do so by quoting the language which the apostle used when it was proposed to him—'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.' This reply corresponds with the language of Jesus Christ himself, who says, 'God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' Hence you perceive that our salvation is made to depend on our belief in Christ; but it must be obvious to you that it must be such a belief as will produce a practical effect. Not a vague and inoperative assent, which leaves the mind in a state of moral apathy, neither alarmed by a perception of danger, nor delighted by the promise of deliverance; but that strong faith in the efficacy of the Saviour's death, and his willingness to save, which will impel us to make a direct and a constant appeal to him."

"I am aware that a change is taking place in my religious opinions, or rather, that my religious opinions are beginning to produce a deeper impression in my heart; but my happiness is not increased by it. Indeed, I cannot account for the singular restlessness and depression of my mind. I once could pray with ease and pleasure; but now, if I make the effort, I cannot do it. I once had great delight in reading the Scriptures, but now I cannot understand them. The more I read and reflect, the deeper I am involved in mental perplexity; and such is the perturbed state of my feelings, that unless it please God to interpose, and give me some relief, I shall be lost."

As he gave utterance to these expressions, we were no less astonished than delighted; and the rapid interchange of looks, seemed to indicate a positive mistrust of our senses. A perfect silence prevailed among us for some minutes, while each one felt grateful to Him who was in the act of redeeming a noble spirit from the bondage of ignorance and self-delusion, by pouring into the recesses of his soul the light of truth. At length Mr. Stevens said, with an emphasis which I shall never forget,

"Permit me, my dear Sir, to offer you my congratulations. Your present depression is to me a source of unutterable joy. Your spirit is wounded by an unseen hand; but there is balm in Gilead—there is a Physician there. You are involved in a state of mental perplexity, which increases in proportion as you labour to extricate yourself; but the day-star will ere long arise in your heart, and then, under the light of a clear manifestation of the truth, you will not only see its beauties, but feel its moral power. You may be tempted to conclude that your case is singular, and that you shall never be able to derive any consolation from the promises of the Bible; but you must guard against receiving such an impression; and remember that He who, when on earth, opened the eyes of the blind, and made the dumb to sing, and He alone, can give you that spiritual discernment which constitutes the essential difference between a real and a nominal Christian."

Mr. Roscoe felt somewhat embarrassed by this powerful appeal; but recovering himself, and assuming his natural dignity of manner, he said, in a subdued tone, "I have much to unlearn, and much to learn, before I can become a real Christian. The following passage, in one of St. Paul's epistles, has often puzzled me, but now I begin to understand its meaning: 'Let no man deceive himself. If any man among you seemeth to be wise in this world, let him become a fool, that he may be wise.' I once thought that I could acquire a knowledge of the theory of revealed truth by the mere effort of intellectual research and investigation, as we acquire a knowledge of any human science; and perhaps few men have devoted more time to the study of it than myself; but I have hitherto neglected to implore wisdom from above, because I did not think it necessary. And the result of all my mental application is a painful discovery of my own ignorance, and even this was not made till I saw my danger. My dear Sophia has often told me that a Divine illumination of the mind is the great secret in personal religion; but I could form no conception of her meaning. Such a sentiment appeared to me not only unnecessary, but absurd; and I often feared, when she has been speaking on this subject, that her understanding was bewildered amidst the unintelligible reveries of a mystical theology. Sometimes, it is true, her arguments would be attended with so much force and skill that she has compelled me to change the subject of debate; but on a recent occasion, when she quoted the passage, 'But the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned,' it made so deep an impression upon my heart, that from that hour to the present I have undergone a perpetual conflict between my prejudices and convictions."

Mr. Roscoe had engaged to return home early in the evening, and now withdrew, but not without expressing the great pleasure which the conversation had afforded him, and making us promise that we would spend an evening at his house in the following week.

Mr. Stevens and I walked with him the greater part of the way home. It was a lovely evening. The moon was just rising above the top of a distant hill; and, as we were entering the grove, we lingered to listen to the songs of the nightingales responding to each other.

"Here is melody," said Mr. Roscoe. "Here is the song of innocence. Here is sweet contentment. And why is the bird of night more happy than man? Ah! why?"

"Because," said Mr. Stevens, "man is fallen from that state of purity and honour in which he was created, and it is wisely ordained that misery shall be the consequence of sin." We now bade him adieu.

On our return, Mrs. Stevens said, "I should like to send a note to Miss Roscoe, to tell her the nature of our conversation with her father. Dear creature, it will make her so glad."

"I think you had better defer doing so till to-morrow; and even then I would advise you to avoid precipitancy. Her mind has recently been under very strong excitement, and as such news will necessarily produce a powerful effect, great prudence is needful on your part in making this communication. As she has to pass from the deepest anxiety to the most elevated joy, she ought not to be startled by a hasty communication; it should be made cautiously, that the transition of feeling may be gradual, instead of rushing in upon her with overpowering force."

"But, my dear, you must not be too sanguine; Mr. Roscoe may not come forth so soon, nor so decidedly, as you anticipate. Though I trust the great moral change has taken place which distinguishes the real from the nominal Christian, yet, as his mind is of a very singular order, we may conclude it will still retain its individuality, and develope its new qualities with that precision and precaution which are its distinctive characteristics. We may calculate on decision, but not rash or hasty decision; on energy, but not much ardent zeal; and on unbending integrity and unremitting constancy; but his progression is likely to be that of a man moving onwards with the dignity of principle, rather than under the impulse of strong passion."

"But do you not suppose that he will go to Broadhurst, and hear our dear Mr. Ingleby next Sabbath?"

"Certainly not; you are not to conclude, from the conversation of this evening, that he yet sees the truth with perfect clearness. No, he rather resembles the man of whom we read in the gospel, who, when the mystic power commenced its mighty operation, saw men so indistinctly that they appeared 'like trees walking.' The film is but partially removed from the eye of his understanding; and though he has the power of spiritual discernment, yet not perfectly. And such is the degree of influence which prejudice, and family, and social connections may still have over his mind, that probably he will not very soon break through his long-established habits, and mingle among us as one of our own people. Indeed, I hardly wish it; because it will be so extraordinary, that it would be considered as a religious mania, taken as by some kind of mysterious infection, rather than the positive result of deep thought, and cool and deliberate judgment. Oh, no; minds, when under the dominion of grace, are usually governed according to the settled laws of their own constitution; and hence the difference of conduct, in relation to an open profession of religion, which is so apparent among the heirs of salvation."

"I am sure Mr. Ingleby will be delighted to hear of it. I have often heard him say, that the conversion of a moral man to the faith of Christ is a more decisive proof of the efficacy of Divine truth, than the conversion of an immoral man, and a much more rare occurrence."

"Yes, my dear, it is more rare, and more difficult, because it is not so easy to convince of mental sin as of an overt act of impiety; but I do not wish that there should be even the most distant allusion made on the subject to any one but Miss Roscoe."

"My dear, you surprise me."

"Perhaps I may, but I think you will be satisfied with my reasons for wishing silence to be observed. If we hastily proclaim to our friends that Mr. Roscoe has undergone a great change in his religious opinions and principles, we may raise expectations which his cautious habit of mind may disappoint, at least for a season, and thus bring on ourselves the censures of some, for stating as a fact what we merely wish to be true. And not only so, but we shall deprive his decision of that power of impression which I think it will ultimately possess. For if we are more forward to speak of such a mental change than he is to profess it, we may be considered as the originators of it; and in that case his example will not have such a powerful influence over his irreligious friends, as it will have if it appear to be the result, as I expect it will, of calm deliberation. He will move with great caution, and we should speak with equal caution."

"What effect do you think his conversion will have on Mrs. Roscoe?"

"Why, unless it should please God to interpose, and bring her to the knowledge of the truth, I have no doubt but it will be regarded by her as some astounding and destructive visitation, sent by an unknown hand to destroy her happiness for life. She is but partially reconciled to the piety of her daughter; and, even now, expresses not only her surprise, but her deep regret; and if her husband become pious (as I have no doubt but he will), though she may endeavour to conform herself to his religious habits, yet it will be with extreme reluctance. But perhaps by his conversation, and the dignified consistency of his conduct, he may succeed in process of time, in answer to his own fervent prayers and the wrestling prayers of dear Sophia, in winning her to Christ."

"It is possible, nay, very probable, as prayer will be made for her continually; and the prayer of faith brings to pass moral wonders. We may live to hail them both as fellow-heirs of the grace of life."

"What a blissful consummation!"

A NIGHT CALAMITY.

I called on them one day; and, when congratulating them on their prosperity, I was struck with the very sensible remarks which Mrs. Hargrave made on the uncertain duration of all earthly blessings.

"Our heavenly Father," she observed, "has blessed us indeed; He has given us more than we deserve, and more than we expected; and He, who has given us all, can, if He please, take all away."

"Yes, He can; and suppose He should deprive you of your little possessions, do you think you could bow in submission, and say, 'Thy will be done?'"

"Yes, Sir, if He give the disposition; but if not, we should repine."

"Ah! Sir," Josiah remarked, "we are poor sinful creatures. In prosperity we are ungrateful, and in adversity rebellious, unless it please the Lord to sanctify to us His dispensations."

"Which state," I asked, "should you prefer, if it were left to your choice—prosperity or adversity?"

"Why," said Josiah, "I would rather let my heavenly Father choose for me, than venture to choose for myself, because He cannot err; but I may. Prosperity, without His blessing, would be a snare; adversity, with it, would be a comfort."

We were interrupted in our conversation by the sudden entrance of the eldest boy, a lad about five years of age, who exclaimed, "I have said my hymn! and,"——before he saw me.

"Come," said the mother, "go and speak to the gentleman."

"Yes," added the father, "and say your hymn to him."

The boy approached with a modest blush, and immediately repeated the following verses, with ease and propriety:—

He repeated also the third chapter of the Gospel according to John, without making any mistake.

"And where does your boy go to school?"

"He goes," said Josiah, "to Mrs. Stevens's Sabbath-school; and, for the last six months, he has been twice in the week up to Squire Roscoe's; and Miss Roscoe has been so kind as to teach him."

"There was a time," I remarked, "when the rich were either too proud, or too much devoted to the pleasures of the world, to attend to the improvement of the lower classes; but now they discover a disposition to favour almost every institution which pure benevolence establishes."

"Yes, Sir," said Josiah, "some do; but not all. We have a few in the parish who are very angry with Mrs. Stevens for setting up her Sabbath-school; and they have tried to put it down; but, thank God, they have not been able to do it. We have but little light; and why should they try to put it out? I went the other day up to Cleveland Hall, and Sir Harry Wilmot, who was a great enemy to Mrs. Stevens's Sabbath-school, was pleased to say that my Charles was a very sharp and well-behaved lad, and did us credit. 'Yes, Sir,' I replied, 'and we may thank Mrs. Stevens for that; for if she had not opened her Sunday-school, our boy would be as rude and as ignorant as other boys.' 'What!' said Sir Harry, 'does your boy go to her school?' 'Yes, Sir.' He was silent some time, and walked backwards and forwards his room, and then went to his bureau, and took out a pound, and said, 'Make my compliments to Mrs. Stevens, and give her this towards the support of her school; and tell her that as long as I see such fruits of her labour, I will encourage them.'"

"It is pleasing," I remarked, "to see the prejudices which some of the more opulent and powerful have cherished against the benevolent institutions of society, giving way; and I have no doubt but they will ultimately become the generous supporters of them."

We had protracted our conversation at Fairmount to an unusually late hour, and were preparing to retire to rest, when we heard the cry of "Fire!" We immediately rushed out, and, on passing through the back yard, we saw the flames issuing from Hargrave's cottage. We hastened to afford assistance; but as the wind blew hard, and we had no engine, it was impossible to save more than a few articles of furniture. It was a dismal scene; I shall never forget that awful night. The mother, with one child in her arms, and another by her side, with difficulty made their escape; and Josiah, in trying to remove his poor dumb ass from the shed, which stood close behind the cottage, was severely scorched; and, though he returned again and again, he was obliged to abandon her.

At length the fury of the wind abated, the rain came down in torrents, and the neighbours, flocking to our assistance, we were able, within the space of about two hours, to extinguish the fire. We now turned our attention to the poor sufferers, who had taken refuge in the villa. On entering the kitchen, I beheld Mrs. Hargrave with her infant in her arms, Charles standing close by her chair, and her husband reclining against the wall, as the surgeon was examining his wounds. When they were dressed, and the terror had somewhat subsided, Josiah said, "The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away, but, blessed be his name, he hath not taken away my wife nor my children."

"There are," said Mr. Stevens, "some circumstances connected with every affliction which take off their keen edge, and give a stronger excitement to our gratitude, than to a murmuring disposition."

"But," said Josiah, as he stood gazing on the living wreck of his possession, "where is Henry? I don't see him."

"Where did you carry him?" said the mother. "You took him up and ran out with him, when I came out with Charles and Ann."

"I have not seen him," said Josiah.

The mother, on hearing this reply, darted from her seat, exclaiming, with a look and in a tone of frantic agony, "My Henry is burnt! my Henry is burnt! O, my Henry! my poor dear Henry! I shall never see him again!" This subdued the firmness of Josiah; but he could not weep. He looked like a man bereft of his reason. He fell back in a chair, and said, "Alas! my poor dear Henry!" This scene of parental anguish was too much for Mrs. Stevens; and, though she bore up for a time, and endeavoured, by efforts of kindness, to allay their sorrow, yet she was obliged at length to retire.