LETTER LX.

From Mr. William Neville to Mrs. Worthington,

DEAR MADAM,

YOUR niece has shown me your kind letter, wherein you have displayed the miseries of unhappy marriages, and the blessings of happy ones. I hope we shall endeavour, with the divine assistance, to escape the rocks and quicksands you have pointed out; and we entreat you to continue your prayers for that purpose.

Agreeably, Madam, to your request I will relate the method which my God and father took to discover to me the errors of the church of Rome. I might properly begin as Paul did, and say, that after the straitest sect of our religion I lived a Pharisee. I and my sisters were edu cated at home, and were under the care of Signior Albino, in whose commendation truth obliges me to declare, that a more diligent, friendly, and faithful man could scarcely any where be found. We loved him as a parent, and anet with a return of affection. It was his constant object to for tify our minds against heresy, with which name he stigma-zed the opinions of all who, according to him, had rent, the seamless coat of Christ by forsaking the communion of the Church of Rome. The arguments he used we had no doubt were unanswerable, and I am convinced he thought the same. The prayers which he gave me I repeated pretty regularly; I cannot say devoutly, for I thought that when I had said them all was well, and my sins would be forgiven. Signior Albino had assured me that this would infallibly be the case, and I believed him, who I thought knew better than I.

When I was about seventeen years of age, being a lover of books, and taking delight in rummaging among a great number of old volumes which were piled up in one of the garrets, I found among them Fox's Acts and Monuments, and my curiosity prompted me to see what the heretics had to say for themselves. After reading a considerable part of the third volume, my belief in the infallibility of the

church of Rome, and in its being the only true church, was shaken, though not destroyed. I wept at the relation of the sufferings of those valiant defenders of the truth who were burned at Smithfield, Oxford, and other places. I believed that they were good men, and that they were dealt very hardly with. I was sorry, if they were wrong, that they were so cruelly treated; for, said I to myself, this severity at best could only have made them hypocrites, by causing them to profess what they did not be-lieve.

I was frequently wanted either by my father or Signior Albino, and when I was inquired for, the servants often used to say, Most probably he is in the garret. At one of those times, my father being determined to see what I was doing, came to me, and found me reading Fox's Acts and Monuments. William, cried he sternly, that is an heretical book, and you are not arrived at a sufficient age for detecting the sophistry of those artful people. I desire you to read it no more. I promised that I would not; and indeed I could not, for it was conveyed away, and, as I find by one of my dear sister's letters, given to Mrs. Privet, at. whose house she providentially came to the sight of it. The effect which it had upon me I kept a profound secret. Indeed I was still persuaded that, on the whole, our religion was the best and safest; for I had found no protestant half so strict as my father and Signior Albino, or whom I thought half so good. Perhaps, so far as respects protestants in general, I was not much out in my judgment.

After I had lost my old companion, I met with another book which caught my attention. This was the History of the Puritans. I had always been taught to consider the church of England as having departed the least of all the Reformed churches from the church of Rome, which I believe is the case. The sectaries I had considered in the same light as Mr. Law considers poor people, namely, as the scum of the earth; and I determined to read this book, in order that I might be confirmed in my prejudice against them. The reading of it, however, had a different effect from what I have expected. It taught me not to take up an opinion of persons and things upon trust. It likewise shook my self-righteousness and vain confidence; for when VOL. II.

H 2

I compared my formality with their piety, I perceived the difference to be inexpressibly in their favour. This caused me for the future to be more watchful of my words and actions, and more solemn in my prayers. But alas! I found. myself unable to be so spiritual and devout as I saw those persons to have been whom I had so much despised; and the more I watched over my thoughts, words, and actions, the worse I appeared to myself to be. My trouble of mind was very great. I knew not what course to take. I durst on no account mention any thing to my father, or Signior Albino, or even to my sister, lest I should be accused of heresy. Nothing, however, was further from my thoughts than leaving the church of Rome; on the contrary, I was forming many schemes how to become more holy, and more devoted to God, in that communion. I had thoughts of becoming a monk; nay, I even wished to renounce the world, and become a hermit; and with these sentiments I was sent nearly three years ago to the English college at St. Omer's. My father thought this a wise precaution for preserving me from heresy and heretics. But in a Catholic country I found religion at a low ebb indeed. The poor, I perceived, were either careless or grossly superstitious : and the rich in general were deists or atheists, and talked and lived as if religion was only designed for the vulgar. I was shocked to see plays acted on the Sunday, and the time of the people occupied by other diversions on that sacred day. I had seen nothing of this kind at home: popery therefore appeared to me in a more suspicious light abroad than it had done in my own country. I associated with very few persons; for I soon discovered that great professions. of friendship meant nothing at all, and repeatedly wrote to my father that I was weary of the haunts of men. All this time I knew nothing of salvation by Jesus Christ. I had indeed many just and dreadful apprehensions that things were not right with me respecting my eternal concerns; but I felt my misery, without knowing the remedy.

My leisure hours I employed in botany, a study of which I am very fond. Being a good walker, I frequently went several miles round the country. At one of these times, being near Mount Cassel upon a botanizing excursion, I fell into the company of a gentleman who spoke English

nearly as well as myself. He resided in that town, and after some conversation about England and America, and upon several other subjects, invited me to drink tea at his house, which invitation I accepted. This event I esteem the happiest in my life.

M. de Bethune, (for that was his name,) a descendant of the prime minister of Henry IV. had resided more than twenty years in America. Having there obtained a competency by his industry, he determined to return with his family to France. Not, said he, that I in the least disliked my situation, the country, or the climate, except that the weather was sometimes extremely cold, and at other times too hot; but I had an ardent desire once more to behold the place where I first drew my breath, and to converse with my old friends and acquaintance. Alas! in twenty years the greatest part of them had passed out of time into eternity; and I had not been here more than a week, and taken a view of the haunts of my childhood, the house where I was brought up, and some other things, before I felt an anxiety to return and not more than half a year elapsed before I actually formed the resolution of doing. So. My son, who is in his twenty-fifth year, came over with his wife, whom he had just married, not doubting but a person with money might find a profitable employment any where. In this however we were mistaken: nothing presented itself which he approved, although we went to Paris, Lyons, Marseilles, and Bourdeaux. In consequence of this disappointment he and his wife set sail for NewYork about a month since. He intends to travel through the States till he meets with a purchase to his mind, which being done, I and his mother, and my two daughters that you now see, intend to go to him. We did not accompany him, because a considerable part of our property is inFrance, which it is necessary for us to stay and collect together.

I have related these few particulars concerning a person to whom I am indebted, under God, for much more than my natural life; that knowledge with which eternal life is connected being far more valuable than mere existence.. He is now returned to America. The day before my friends arrived at St. Omer's I had bidden farewell to him

and his family. The thoughts of seeing each other no more in this world, were the occasion of much sorrow on both sides. He and his wife considered me almost as another son, and the children loved me like a brother.

Young gentleman, said he, at our first interview, you have told me that you are sent to St. Omer's to finish your education; knowledge is undoubtedly excellent; but I wish to learn from your own mouth whether you possess that knowledge which is the most important. I was so unused to this kind of discourse, that I knew not how to reply. I therefore requested him to speak more intelligibly. My friend, answered he, you will one day die, and after death you will be either happy or miserable. What I ask you is, whether you have a good hope through grace that you will be eternally happy. I replied, that I took it very kindly that M. de Bethune should thus interest himself respecting me; and that I had had many thoughts on the subject, but was at present unprepared to answer such an important question. I added, that I should esteem it a very great favour if he would instruct me. My friend, said he, the Christian only has a well-founded hope of.eternal life and every Christian has that hope, either in a greater or smaller degree. Pray, sir, said I, are you a catholic or a protestant? A protestant, sir, replied he; but I do not consider this as any proof of my being a Christian, or a true worshipper of God; there are many wicked protestants; you have undoubtedly seen such in your own country. To be a Christian is to be like Christ, and to be godly is to be like God. Read with care our Lord's conversation with Nicodemus. You will there learn, that except a man be born again, he not only cannot enter into the kingdom of God, but cannot see it. The world, said the apostle John, knoweth us not, because it knew him not. If the Jews had known the hidden wisdom of God, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory: but, their minds being perverted by sin, they turned his glory into shame, and cast out his name as evil, in like manner as they afterwards did the names of his followers.

This brought to my mind all that I had read of the servants of God who were burned in the time of queen Mary. The catholics who burned them, and the Jews who cruci