"Young man, I understand that you do not pray in your school. The duty never was neglected before in this town; and if you are not sensible enough of its importance to attend to it, you are unfit for the place. How can we expect a blessing on our children, if God be not remembered in their instructions; and how can he be fit to teach, who will not seek wisdom from above?"

This unexpected address confounded me; and, after all that I had suffered in my mind, was more than I could sustain. I burst into tears, and, as well as I was able, stated the exact truth. Mr. Reynolds was not a man to appreciate the diffidence which had caused my error, and he rebuked me for yielding to it. He expressed his satisfaction, however, that I had conquered it. "I have heard of your father," said he, "though I do not know him personally. I am not solicitous for the acquaintance of those who are not perfectly sound in their views; and I am not surprised that the religious faith in which he has educated you is too weak to overcome your fear of the world. Nothing but the genuine gospel can subdue that false pride of the natural heart. But I trust you will learn better. God has sent you here at a propitious season for the interests of your soul, and I do not doubt you will find it blessed to you. There is a powerful work of grace going on amongst us. The Holy Spirit is evidently in the midst, and there is a great rattling among the dry bones. Our meetings are frequent, full, and solemn. You must attend them, of course, as many as you can, and you will see such operations of divine power as are wonderful to behold."

Much more, and more earnestly, he talked on this topic, and at length pressed me with close and trying questions respecting my own religious opinions and experience; and drew from me a minute account of negligences and failures, which he represented to me as glaring and dangerous defects. My conscience was a tender one, and easily joined in accusations against myself. I had a horror of displaying myself to greater advantage than the truth, which led me to conceal almost every thing in my religious character which he would have approved. I could not bring myself to speak of those secret exercises of my spirit, which I accounted sacred to the inspection of Heaven. Mr. Reynolds argued warmly, and warned me earnestly. His tone of expostulation was powerful in itself, as well as new to me. I felt it to my heart's core. My

timid spirit shrunk and trembled. He left me in a state of amazement and anxiety, which robbed me of the perfect possession of my faculties for the remainder of the day.

In the afternoon, when, of course, I was unengaged, several friends of my host called in, who were interested in the religious state of the village, and made it the subject of their conversation. They talked of the meetings which had been held, of the cases of those who had been affected, and described at length the situation and exercises of some of the converts. A wholly novel scene was thus unveiled to me. Religion and religious feelings were presented in a new light. And the eagerness with which the matter was discussed, the breathless curiosity and sympathy expressed in the eye, the flushed cheek, and the impatient attitudes of speakers and listeners, were calculated to make a deep impression upon a novice like myself. The comparison of this exhibition with what I had always seen, and reverenced, and loved as true religion, perplexed and distressed me. I could gain no peace after many hours of anxious thinking, but by remembering that longer observation would teach me what was right, and that it was my duty to wait patiently. I gave myself, therefore, to the reading of the Scriptures, and at length laid myself down calmly to await the opening of the Sabbath-day.

On this occasion, and on thousands since, I have derived peace from prayer, when every thing else conspired to vex and distress me-a proof of itself, that devotion of spirit is the essence of true religion; and that he who has this, cannot be lost to God, nor be a stranger to his favour, however he may err in controverted truths.

It is impossible for me to follow minutely my recollections of this memorable winter. They would fill a large volume, instead of the few sheets which my trembling hand is able to write. It must suffice to say, that the new scenes into which I was thrown, continued to be occasions of severest perplexity and anxiety for many weeks. I had been bred religiously, I had been scrupulously conscientious, I had thought myself a lover of God and man, and had rejoiced in the hope of heaven. But my religion had been noiseless and secret. I had seldom conversed respecting it, except at particular moments with my father. I had never been excited by crowds assembled, nor had I ever been conscious of any extraordinary change in my

dispositions, or feelings, or life. I had gone on quietly from childhood to youth, conscientiously, but calmly, and with no display of zeal. I had seen in my father precisely the same operation of religion which I had witnessed in myself, except that it was far more perfect. I had thought this the true Christian character; and although often I had sighed over my imperfections, yet I never had suspected that I was wrong in principle.

But if what I now saw and heard were the genuine exhibition of religion, then I had been entirely and wofully deceived. If I must believe what was perpetually urged in my ears, then I was only a hypocrite, without Christ, and without hope. Nothing can exceed the distress with which this thought was attended. Many nights did I pass sleepless and weeping with uncontrollable anguish of spirit. I became almost unfit for any duty. My thoughts preyed on my health, till my robust body wasted under the torture of the mind, and my cheek was pale and sunken.

For why, thought I, should I not believe all that I see and hear? I cannot deny the existence of the sincerest, heartiest religion here. Earth cannot contain a purer and meeker spirit than my hostess possesses; and where is there more real and actuating piety than in deacon Lumbard, though he be a little narrow; and where a nobler benevolence, and more solemn concern for Christianity, than in Mr. Reynolds, though he be a little rough? and then how general and deep is the religious impression that prevails -how serious, how anxious, how devout is the whole village-how indefatigable in teaching and learning-what a sense of the evil of sin, and dread of the Divine displeasure-and not my own father could discover more anxiety for my good than my friends do bere.

Yet while I thus looked with reverence upon the zeal and piety I witnessed, I could not listen to the representations of gospel doctrine, which were perpetually made, without a certain horror. This, I was told, was an infallible sign of an unrenewed heart; and this served to aggravate my distress. I never had studied controversy, nor heard it preached; but my father had always implied something very different from what I now heard, and I could not reconcile the representations I now met, with the impressions I had received from the Bible. My blood chilled when I heard the arbitrary decree of election announced, and, connected with it, the joy of the righteous

in the sufferings of the wicked. I was most distressingly bewildered in the contradictions about depravity and accountability, irresistible grace, involuntary faith, and changes rung, without end, on justification, adoption, sanctification, and imputation. It was a wilderness to me. I turned on every side, and could find no relief. If I had only seen these things in books, I should have passed them by as wild speculations. But I found them filling the minds and thoughts of men, whose religious zeal was more imposing to my mind than any thing I had ever met with-men whom I honoured and loved, who treated me with assiduous kindness, and who assured me, with the earnestness of the most solemn asseveration, that they built all their religion and all their hope on these doctrines, and that they could conceive of no salvation on any other ground. Thus beset, what could I do? Who would wonder if I had yielded?

I at length told those who had interested themselves most warmly in my behalf, that there was but one course for me to take, namely, to examine the Scriptures anew with fresh care, and abide by the result. To this proposal they warmly assented, not doubting, as they said, that the Holy Ghost would teach me; and they left me with solemn prayer to pursue this design.

I look back to the execution of this purpose with highest gratitude and satisfaction. Every leisure minute found me at my Bible, and the morning often broke while I was yet studying. Earnest were my prayers for light, and sincere my wish to be instructed; and He who heareth prayer heard me, enlightened me, and gave me a happy confidence in the result of my labour. My opinions became fixed and grounded on the sure testimony of God; and I no longer felt embarrassment at the very opposite representations of gospel truth which were prevailing around me. They could still sometimes blind my eyes for a moment with the dust of metaphysical subtlety; but the breath of the divine word soon blew it away, and I saw clearly.

I now became tranquil and happy. My cheerfulness of spirit returned, and with it health. My anxieties ended in a serene and settled peace, no more to be disturbed by the tumult round about me. I came out of the trial, in every respect the better for having passed through it. My opinions were more clearly defined and more solidly

grounded. My devout feelings were become deeper and more ardent. While, at the same time, my intimacy with the sentiments and characters of those who differed from me, gave me a juster view of them, and a more real regard for them, than under any other circumstances I could have attained. This has been of incalculable benefit to me through life. I have been preserved by it from a great deal of false and censorious judging, and enabled to discriminate between the merits and weakness of my more orthodox brethren, so as to maintain for them a sincere respect and unchanging charity. And I have always found that those are least bigoted, who are best acquainted with those whom they oppose. Nothing destroys uncharitableness and censoriousness so certainly, as an intimacy with the habitual feelings and characters of men of other sects. Bigotry is the offspring of ignorance.

Such was the end, and such, in few words, have been the consequences of the scenes which I have described. But my trials were not yet over. My own mind was satisfied, but others were dissatisfied; and I was doomed to endure, coldness, reproach, suspicion, and alienation from many who had been forward to instruct me, and who professed the warmest and most disinterested friendship. I was made the subject of village gossip and scandal; a thousand false and calumnious reports were spread abroad; and I became little better than a heathen and a publican to the zealots, who, a few weeks before, seemed ready to sacrifice even their lives for me.

The trials to which I have alluded, as coming upon me in consequence of my decision in regard to religion, were of several sorts. I can name them but in few words. I had supposed that all who professed a friendship for me, and had so zealously interested themselves in my behalf, would rejoice with me in the relief of mind I had gained, even though they might have wished that my conclusions had been nearer to their own. But in this I was disappointed. From the moment it became known in what manner my concern of mind had terminated, and that I was not to be brought out as a convert after their fashion; there was a manifest change in the manners of many towards me. Instead of cordiality, I found coldness; instead of a welcome, I met a repulse. And I soon found that all their zeal for my soul's welfare, was little more at bottom