There are persons among them whose understanding and piety greatly exceed any thing I am acquainted with in our own church. We have, it is true, many whose zeal has led them to practise austerity and self-denial; but my child would have told me, that mortification of the flesh is no part of holiness, unless it be practised in obedience to the divine precepts. And who can contradict this? The catholic religion is sadly corrupted. One person has made one addition to divine revelation, and another has made another, till the simple truth has been choked and smothered among the weeds. The annexing of princely revenues to the profession of Christianity, has excited worldly-minded men to struggle for the emoluments of the church; and when they have come into office, the doctrines of the gospel have been corrupted to their carnal taste, and an ostentatious ceremonious religion has taken place of the plain, unadorned religion of Jesus Christ. This is what my dear Eusebia often told us, and the same obvious truth is often repeated in the correspondence between her and her friends. Genuine Christianity must not be expected to flourish in a national church. It is no wonder that an established clergy should generally consist of worldly-minded men, whose grand object of inquiry is, what may be gained by religion in this world, and not how they and their hearers may be saved in the world to come..

How glad should I be if my son and daughter were what their dear sister was: I hope God will continue to make Miss Barnwell a blessing to my family. It was a kind providence that Maria sent for her when she was ill. I have heard of the treatment she has received from her father; but I have no room to reproach him. However, I ought to be a father to her, especially as I am certain my dear Eusebia, if she were alive, would wish me to act in that

manner.

You seem to have written with fear and trembling; but your letter was the most welcome one I ever received from you. I need not add to the above that I shall be glad to see you.

I am, my good friend,

Most sincerely yours,

JAMES NEVILLE.

LETTER LI.

From Mr. William Neville to Mrs. Worthington.

DEAR MADAM,

IT is with great pleasure I inform you of a fresh instance of the goodness of God to me and my friends, because I know you will rejoice with me.

Yesterday my father and I were alone. I am continue ally thinking, said he, of your dear sister. I look at the places where I used to behold her, and immediately her lovely image presents itself to my view. I think I see her just as she was at St. Omer's, when on her knees she besought me for the love of Christ to have compassion on her. I was deaf to her entreaties and her tears. O that I had made my bed in the ocean with her! But the righteous Judge of the earth has réserved me to suffer the punishment of my iniquity. My dear son, what do you think of the state of your sister? I hope you think her salvation possible, notwithstanding she died out of the pale of the church.

It afforded me great pleasure that my father began a discourse of this kind with me when we were alone. I was anxious to inform him that I was a protestant, yet wished to do it by slow degrees, as I found him able to bear it. I therefore answered, that I had no doubt that the soul of my sister was in the divine presence, among the spirits of the just, and that I did not believe she did die out of the church.

Not out of the church? said he; what evidence have you of that?

If, Sir, answered I, we suppose the church of Christ to be composed of his faithful servants, as undoubtedly it is, my sister, being one of them, must consequently be a member of his church.

This appears to be good reasoning, said my father: but then have we not hitherto erred in supposing the church of Rome to be the only true church ?

Have not you, Sir, replied I, often told us that some abuses have crept into the church of Rome, the amendment of which is rather to be desired than expected? Her assertion that she is the only true church of Christ, I must confess I have long considered as an abuse of truth.

What, said my father, have you long considered it in that light, or only since you conversed with your sister at St. Omer's?

It was my sentiment, Sir, replied I, long before I knew that it was her's.

I am glad of it, said my father; for it is an important truth, that all the servants of Jesus are his church; wher ever they may be scattered, or by whatever name they may be known.

I now perceived that my dear parent had read your and Miss Barnwell's correspondence with my sister. I thereFore told him it was to be lamented that he had not perceived so great a truth before, since it was a capital article wherein he had differed from my dear sister.

Ah, my son, replied he, I wish I could recal one month: I should then be happy. But it is gone for ever. I hope, Sir, said I, you will yet be happy what you have done I know was with the very best intent.

That is a poor excuse, replied he, except my intention had been regulated by God's word, or I had lived where the oracles of truth are unknown. In either of those cases the goodness of the intention would in some measure have palliated the action. But it was otherwise with me. God's mind and will are revealed in his word. This word was in my hand, and I ought to have acquainted myself with it, and to have submitted to it without reserve.

Your observation, Sir, is just, replied I; but as it is impossible to recall what is past, the only thing which re- * mains is, for each of us to pray for the divine illumination, and, in dependence on God, to endeavour to lay aside our former prejudices, and to learn the whole of our faith and practice from his revealed will. Without doubt we may receive helps from other quarters: but we are commanded to call no man on earth father or master in these respects, nor to follow him one step further than he is a fol ower of Christ.

Omy son, replied my honoured parent, taking my hand. and pressing it to his lips, thou art a blessing to my declining years. I only wish that I had profited by the modest hints thou gavest me in thy letters from St. Omer's, of the immoral lives of catholics, of that corruption which has crept into the church by slow degrees, and of the necessity which there is that religious societies. should frequently recur to first principles. The faith and practice of a Christian are no where so clearly delineated as in God's word: henceforth may it be the business of me and mine to draw living water from those wells of salvation.

I was greatly affected at this discourse. I have no doubt that my dear parent has profited by reading the correspondence between you, Madam, Miss Barnwell, and my sister; but I desire to ascribe the glory to the divine Being, without whose almighty energy no instruction can be of any avail.

I

We had much conversation beside what I have related. He told me of the amazing change that had taken place in the mind of Signior Albino, and also asked me whether I had had any religious conversation with Maria. I thought this a proper time to relate the whole without reserve. told him the reason of my sister's sending for Miss Barnwell, and gave him copies of the letters which had passed between you, Miss Barnwell, and Maria, in his absence. He read them with great emotion, a tear now and then stealing down his cheek. My son, said he, I thank you for being so unreserved, and I thank God for the great mercy shown to my family: it is infinitely more than I deserve. I perceive that Maria was prepared to suffer for the sake of Christ; and if God had not stopped me by the way, as he did Saul, my fellow-persecutor, it is probable I should have treated each of you as I did your dear sister. There is Miss Barnwell, continued he, who is a sufferer for holding faith and a good conscience; I cannot consistently reproach her father, but with God's leave I will be a father to her.

I blushed; and the more I endeavoured to conceal my emotion, the less able I was to succeed.

William, said my father, thou hast a face that will VOL. II

D 2

speak the truth. What may I not conjecture from those

blushes?

I confessed that I had a regard for that lady on many accounts, but chiefly because she was a servant of Jesus Christ. I said that I had, however, determined not to go one step further than esteem, without first acquainting him.

My father replied, that that was a becoming resolution; and that children could not show greater marks of folly and disrespect to their parents, than by fixing their affections and making overtures without their knowledge. You have made, added he, a proper choice. This young lady will have little or no fortune. If you also had none, that would be an objection to your union, as you have both been unused to labour. But as you, my son, will have a sufficiency, I do not perceive any thing which is likely to be a bar to your mutual happiness.

Undoubtedly, Sir, answered I, there is always a necessity for the exercise of prudence. Yet the man who already possesses wealth equal to the sphere in which he desires to move, ought to make a fortune with a wife the last and the least consideration. Miss Barnwell loves God, and is grateful, humble, sincere, modest, and discreet. She would neither be elated by prosperity, nor depressed by adversity. She is careful and diligent; not a waster, nor fond of that fantastical levity which characterizes the women of the present day. These qualifications, I humbly apprehend, are the best portion a man can have with a wife. On the contrary, if a woman be destitute of the fear of God; if she be proud, ignorant, and vain; and if she cannot find any happiness in her own family, but from an idle indolent habit, spends one part of her time in dress, and the other in sauntering like the butterfly from place to place, no fortune can compensate for her defects.

The present mode of educating children, said my father, is not calculated to make them good husbands or wives; and indeed we cannot but perceive that all ranks, from the palace to the cottage, have adopted such a luxurious and expensive way of living, that every one seems to vie with his neighbour who shall be most extravagant. We ought not to wonder that so many gentlemen spend their estates,